


Aftermath

by honeysweetcutie



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dirty Talk, Dom Peter Parker, F/M, Michelle Jones Needs a Hug, Past childhood sexual abuse, Protective Peter Parker, Smut, Submissive Michelle Jones, get ready, good girl kink, it is not described, perhaps we don't, perhaps we use the web slingers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29228628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysweetcutie/pseuds/honeysweetcutie
Summary: MJ and Peter aren't exactly connecting. MJ wants to get railed, Peter wants to rail her, but neither one seems to know how to say it. MJ reads 50 Shades in the hopes that she'll figure it out. Peter creeps on her from a roof in the hopes she won't find out.After the Snap, it's harder to pick up the pieces and grow up than they thought it was going to be.
Relationships: Michelle Jones & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is a revamp of an old story I was working on last year. I don't even remember what I titled it, but if you read it back then, you will recognize my penname and the prose. But I have revised it and am taking it in a slightly different direction.
> 
> I monitor my comments and reviews.
> 
> This story has trigger warnings for: violence, BDSM elements, and smut.
> 
> This is the MCU movie franchise version of Spider-Man, and it is canon-compliant.
> 
> This is a Black MJ written by a Black author. Respect that.

****

**Chapter One**

Shit, it was hot.

MJ smacked her hand against the stapler, the afternoon sun beating down hard against the back of her body. The warmth of it tried to smolder through the thick mass of curls that tumbled down her back, doing its best to piss her off. In the back of her head, she remained eternally grateful for the heat-defying benefits of Carol's Daughter.

A frown tugged her lips downward when she felt the bead of sweat that made its way down her temple. Reaching up with one hand covered in tawny brown skin, she wiped it away. She hated sweating.

Heading down the hallway of the Art building, MJ stapled another flier to the next corkboard. Her eyes lit upon several other fliers similar to hers, and her heart sank a bit.

Would anyone even call? There were like, seventy-five other people all trying to start the same Summer Art club as her. Why was she trying to start a club anyway? She hated people. She hated gatherings.

Her eyes rolled towards the Heavens—towards a God who obviously thought it was hilarious to watch her swim closer to a whirlpool of failure.

Whatever.

Even if one person showed up, it'd be one more person than she had right now. Which was herself. So the final number would be two. If she remembered anything from high school, it was that math never failed. Two people was a club.

She stapled another flier at the end of the hall, nearly colliding with someone. That person also held a stack of fliers.

"Starting a club?" he asked, arching one thick eyebrow. His accent was thick—Ukranian or Russian.

"Yeah," MJ said, flashing a close-lipped smile. Her gaze flitted down to the ones in his hands. As she read the words splashed across the page in punchy, colorful letters, her heart wormed its way deeper into her chest cavern. "An Art club, huh?"

"Yes," Eyebrows replied, and his smile was condescending. "We _are_ in the Art building, you know."

"Right," MJ said, and she bit her lip. She glanced down at her fliers. They were plain, with black ink and white paper. Boring. "Well."

"You could always join someone else's," Eyebrows suggested, his eyes also landing upon her stack. "Maybe even mine . . . ?"

MJ's hand moved behind her back, as though he hadn't already seen her pieces of shit excuses for fliers. "Yeah, I guess I . . . Could . . . You know, I'm just gonna . . . I have a . . . There's a . . . Okay, bye."

She hurried away, headed back down the hall, forcing her cheeks to remain any color other than red. She cursed herself.

Starting an Art club in the Art building? Really? When there were 375 other Art clubs being started for Summer?

Maybe that's why Peter never called her back. Stupid didn't really suit spiders.

When MJ got back to her car, she rested her head against the horn.

Rather, she slammed her forehead to the center of the steering wheel and let the horn blare and blare and blare. Loneliness had been her thing in high school but now, after everyone was elsewhere, she just wanted her club of one to become two. She wanted at least _one_ friend.

"I'm not asking for much, bruh," MJ groaned to herself, her voice barely audible above the screaming horn. "I just want someone to draw pictures of dudes with."

A knock came at her window, insistent and firm.

MJ, still with her head against the horn, swiveled her neck to the driver's side window.

A girl who certainly belonged to a sorority stood there, face drenched in make-up and hair perfectly curled past her shoulders. She was saying something—yelling it, really—and stomping the four-inch platform heel that graced her perfectly-pedicured left foot.

MJ rolled her window down, remaining hunched over.

"Can I help you?" she asked over the horn.

"Uhh _yeah_ ," the girl scoffed, hands on her hips. "Could you maybe like, _not_ sit here and blow your car horn, freak? It's finals week."

MJ's lips twitched upward. She made a show of lifting her head from the wheel with a cloak of drama that could only be worn by her.

"Happy?"

"Very much so," the girl snapped, voice dripping with sarcasm. She stomped off, the angry _click-clack_ of her heels smacking against the campus pavement grating on MJ's nerves.

MJ surveyed the students who were standing around glaring at her, all sharing the same sentiment as the sorority girl, and she knew she'd better just go home. She rolled her window back up and turned the car on, her feet feeling as heavy as lead as she peeled out of the parking lot. Driving with a muggy countenance and a frown pasted upon her face, she wondered if she should maybe just cry a little so she didn't feel so overwhelmed.

Nah.

Three fliers. That would probably get her zero people. Damn, her club was going to remain a club of one. That sucked.

She glanced over and down at the rest of her fliers, sitting all haphazard in the passenger's seat. A sighed escaped her lips.

Maybe she'd overreacted. Maybe her fliers were cooler than Eyebrows' were, or even any of the other 568 fliers littering the Art building walls. Maybe she ought to just go back and put them up later in the evening.

Or maybe she was a dumb bitch and should just go home and mope about it.

* * *

When she got back to her dorm, the room was empty.

Her roommate, Bethany, was never home and probably wouldn't be for a while. The small dorm room was littered with clothing, papers, and make-up, though, so MJ knew she'd been back at some point that morning. The nineteen-year-old girl kicked all of the mess over to Bethany's side of the room, like she always did, and plopped down on the edge of her bed.

What an absolutely _shitty_ day.

She couldn't find a clean pair of jeans and had to wear a fucking dress, was late for Creative Writing, forgot to turn in her Volcanology rough draft, ran over a paint can that splattered yellow all over her front bumper, and now, had only managed to put up three club fliers before chickening out. Her forehead met her palm. She let out her 790th for that day.

MJ picked up her phone, seeing that her mother had called sometime between her first and second classes.

Sigh number 791.

She swiped the notification away. She didn't want to talk to her mother.

It was almost 3:00pm, so her mom was either working on her first bottle of Hennessy or she was starting her second. MJ never knew because it varied by the day. Sometimes, her mom threw her for a loop and drank a pint of Jack.

MJ went to her contacts and pressed Peter's name. Her thumb hovered over the number, hesitant. He never called back like, ever. She could be about to fall into a meat grinder, and he'd probably still be too busy to call her back.

It wasn't like they'd been dating for over a fucking year, or anything.

She pressed the number and held it to her ear. It rang and rang and rang . . . And rang. And then it rung a couple more times, for good measure.

"Heya, you've reached the voicemail of Peter Parker," came the ever-chipper, ever-delightful, ever-joyous, ever- _infuriating_ voice of her longtime pet spider. "I can't come to the—"

MJ hung up, pulling an annoyed facial expression, muttering, "I can't come to the fucking phone right now because I'm probably balls-deep in some _whore_."

In a rare moment of irrational and jealous frustration, MJ threw her phone against the floor. The dull _thunk_ of the plastic against the thin carpet was as satisfying as a cat scratch.

She fell back against her mattress, her head scraping the wall, and stared at the ceiling.

Peter would never cheat on her, and she knew that. Even though they'd never done much more than kiss—10 times, to be exact—he was exceeding in his patience and even more generous with his understanding. Sure, they didn't go on dates like real couples and sure, she hated flowers and gifts and hand-holding and touching and expressions of feeling and people and the flesh that was _on_ people, but he was a good guy. If he wasn't answering his phone, it was because he was working on something for school, web-slinging some criminal or another, making sandwiches at work, or messing around in one of the labs at the compound.

Of course, Peter never called back, so she didn't know for sure, but MJ was cool. She was the girl who was chill in the face of relationship drama. She wasn't gonna pry.

He was cool with the lack of physicality.

Her thoughts nudged her, refusing to allow her a moment's rest.

_Is he though?_

She pursed her lips and squinted her eyes at the ceiling, as though she could see the physical manifestation of her mind. The envy and suspicion curled its way through her gut, setting her jaw to a clench.

"He's not a cheater," MJ said to herself, shaking her head. "No. Nope. He knows I move slow."

_Yeah, but like . . . A year, though? Liiiike . . . ?_

"I kissed him before," MJ said, closing her eyes. "Plenty of times. Wasn't a problem."

_Last_ _peck was pretty much two months ago._

"One month and three weeks. And it was more than a peck. It was a . . . It was a kiss. Like, it was a _kiss_."

_It was an accident._

" _No_ , bitch, it was on purpose . . . ly unintentional." She grimaced. "I'm talking to myself. I am _talking_ to myself right now. This is fucking cringe."

_Except that it's not cringe. It's reality. He's nineteen. You're nineteen. Something's gotta give eventually._

MJ banished the thoughts before her imagination got too out of control, waving her hand as if she could wipe the mental picture of Peter all over some girl with huge boobs and a skintight dress from her brain.

She sat up, leaned down, and grabbed her phone.

Should she call him and leave a voicemail this time? Ask him on a date? Promise him a good time with a dress and some high heels?

A shudder ran through her.

It would be a cold day in Hell before MJ ever put a pair of high heels on again. Last time she did that was for some Avengers fundraiser with Peter, and she tripped over her toes and fell into a fountain. Water and natural hair?

No.

Never. Happening. Again.

She could still remember the frizz. She looked like Chaka Khan forgot to wear her cap to bed. Shit.

MJ scooted backward to the wall, phone in hand. Stretching her legs out, she glared down at them. She shouldn't be able to see them at all, but no. No clean jeans, leggings all had holes in the crotches, and it was fucking eighty degrees out every day. The black skater dress she wore felt like she was wearing someone else's clothes. She hated it.

Was the problem really her, or was it Peter? Was her total lack of desire to act like a couple the reason why she hadn't seen him in two weeks?

No. That wasn't Peter.

He wasn't the type of guy to be misogynistic like that. He'd had a crush on her their Senior year, and he wouldn't have stayed in a relationship with her this entire time if her clothing choices and the lack of high heels in her closet were an issue.

She hoped.

MJ spent the afternoon on her phone, scrolling through Instagram until the ads blurred into the posts. When it said _You're All Caught Up!_ she switched to Twitter and scrolled through that. Her un-turned-in rough draft nagged at her, but the feeling of procrastination was too sweet.

When she voice-called her online friends on Messenger, they actually picked up, so it was a sign that homework was cancelled for the day.

Around dinnertime, she grabbed a Hot Pocket from her minifridge, shoved it into the microwave, and then logged into her computer.

" _Final Fantasy,_ here we come," she muttered to herself, clad in only a tank top and her underwear.

She bit into her Hot Pocket, the molten lava inside nearly melting her tongue off. She gasped past the pain and like all good Hot Pocketeers, continued to gasp all the way through the entire pastry. As she did, she glanced out the window at the building directly across. Most of the windows were open against the heat, but there didn't seem to be anyone looking into hers.

Shit, wouldn't it be wild if Peter was on the roof next door, watching her?

It would be a lie if she didn't say she fantasized about it sometimes. The concept of being watched by her boyfriend like she was some ethereal princess locked in a tower was so patriarchal, but God, would it make her feel pretty. Which was also pretty patriarchal, but come on.

The thought of her boyfriend being so taken by her that he had to just watch her just _existing_?

Hours went by, the only sounds coming from the clicking of the mouse and the occasional tapping on the keyboard. By ten at night, the twilight had faded. When she glanced out her window, she saw a dark night sky with stars blocked out by the light pollution of the city. The lights in the apartment windows across the street were on, silhouettes of humans walking back and forth past their curtains, living their lives.

Sometimes, she felt like she didn't belong amongst them.

Maybe that was why Peter wasn't calling her back. Maybe that was why he didn't want to see her. Maybe she really was _that_ weird, that bizarre that he wasn't interested in talking to her because he was surrounded by personable people who did things like fight aliens and punch clouds and shit.

And what did she do?

Eat Hot Pockets and play Final Fantasy online in her underwear?

MJ let herself stare out the window for a minute while her character rested on the screen. Cars zoomed by on the street below. There was a faint crash followed by the yowling of a cat. Laughter echoed upward from the sidewalk.

She wondered what Peter was doing. Without ever really getting to hear from him, it was difficult not to let her insecurities affect her. She wasn't the type to let jealousy claw her from the inside out, but she couldn't deny that it was bizarre that Peter never did anything other than text her.

Like, it wasn't like she was a _bad_ girlfriend, per se, she just . . . Wasn't good at being a girlfriend. She loved Peter, but she'd die before she ever told him that. Just the thought of his face if she were to tell him made her physically sick.

Like, " _Yeah, Peter, I'm in love with you even though we've only ever kissed, and I never let you do boyfriend things, and the last time we held hands was in the airport after our class trip to Europe over a year ago."_

He'd probably laugh until he died, and then she'd follow him to the grave right after. She'd die a murderer. She'd die a murderer and go to Hell and when she got there, Satan would laugh at her because she was so pathetic.

She turned back to her game, the permanent frown that seemed to hover about her lips feeling like a second skin to her. She watched her character running across a field, wondering what the Hell she was thinking.

Peter was a hero. He'd been to space, for Christ's sake. Like, _to_ space. Like, his body had been standing on an actual planet with atmosphere that _wasn't_ Earth. He had like . . . Abs and biceps and cute, expressive eyes. And he did that thing with his hair, that thing where he mussed it up with his man-hands and made it look all . . . Peter-y.

He could have any girl he wanted, including the big-boobed and high heeled girl MJ couldn't stop imagining him with. Why the fuck would he want to stay with a girl who would rather play Final Fantasy in her underwear and burn her tongue on pepperoni Hot Pockets? Peter had actually had his hands on _Thanos_ and his fucking giant chin, and MJ couldn't even put up fliers without running scared to honk her car horn for ten minutes straight.

"I wish I didn't love him so _fucking_ much!" she suddenly shouted at her computer screen. She let out a scream of rage. " _Fuck_!"

"Ooh, girl—language," came the voice of her friend from her headset—the headset MJ had forgotten she was wearing. "I wish I didn't love Doritos so much

"Oh, shut up, Betty," MJ laughed, recovering quickly. "You know you're never gonna quit Doritos."

"Why don't you just _tell_ him?" Betty replied as though she hadn't spoken the last sentence. On screen, her character went down to a group of monsters. "Ugh, fuck these stupid Behemoths. Can you heal me?"

"Yeah, I got you," MJ answered, the clicking of her mouse a steady noise in the background. "And I can't. We've only kissed like, a few times."

"How many is a few?"

"Bitch, don't ask questions. We kissed."

Betty laughed. "Well, a few can have different meanings, MJ. It could be like, three kisses on the lips, no tongue. Or it could be like three hot, heavy make-out sessions. Or it could be three blow jobs. Those are a type of kiss. You never know."

"Bro." MJ pulled her head back, looking at her computer screen with a disturbed expression. "What kind of kissing do you and Ned do, Betty?"

"I'm just saying!" Betty laughed. "What do you mean by a _few_?"

MJ sighed. "Just like, pecks. I've never made out with him."

Betty gasped. "Seriously?"

"Betty, shut your mouth!" MJ said, also laughing. "I forget deodorant on the regular. Do you think I remember to make out with my boyfriend?"

Betty was silent for a moment and then she guffawed, nearly choking on her chips. "MJ, _what_? It's not something you _forget_ or _remember._ It's something you . . . You _do_."

"Yeah, well, it's not something I just _do_ ," MJ said, dispatching a Firaga spell on some enemies. She adjusted her headset on top of her curls. "I'm like, _shy._ Or whatever."

"Well," Betty replied, munching on a chip loudly, "I'm sure he likes you or loves you or has feelings, or whatever. He doesn't seem like the kind-of guy to just like, only want sex. He's like a puppy dog."

"A puppy dog?"

"Yeah, he'd follow you to Hell if you asked him to," Betty snorted. "You'll be fine. Take your time."

MJ sighed and took off her headset, tousling her curls with her fingers. Her gaze slid to her window again.

She wished Peter would come swinging up to her dorm balcony. She didn't know what she would do if he did. It wasn't like she was going to just _sleep_ with him randomly to try and keep him interested, but she spent her nights dreaming about the what ifs so frequently that she wasn't so sure.

MJ wasn't the girliest of girls, but she loved him. She _wanted_ to kiss him and see if she could make his hair do the Peter-y thing with her own fingers instead of his, but she just . . . Couldn't. She'd never made out with a guy before. What if she was bad at it? What if she kissed with teeth? Or used too much spit? Or God forbid, what if her throat did that weird crackling thing that throats do when there was too much saliva in them?

Ew.

Behind her, the door opened and two people stumbled in through the darkness. MJ didn't need to turn around. She heard the creaking of Bethany's bed, heard her giggling, heard a man's dirty talk.

MJ rolled her eyes and picked up her headset.

But then, she hesitated.

The things the guy was saying . . . They were so different from anything MJ had ever heard before. So different from anything she'd ever expect someone to say to her. They had to be par for the course for Bethany, a girl who literally looked like an Instagram model on a bad day. But for MJ?

They made her stomach curl.

What would it be like to hear _Peter_ talk like that?

A full-body flush washed over MJ's entire body. The mental image of Peter pinning her down to the bed by her throat while he whispered words like _fuck, just like that_ and _you wanna come all over my fingers?_ was so visceral that she thought she might pass out.

Where the Hell did _those_ daydreamscome from?

With the quickness, MJ put her headset back on, typing to Betty in the chat that she wouldn't be able to speak on her mike anymore. She turned the game music up so she wouldn't have to hear Bethany's moaning, and played the game.

An hour later—at midnight—MJ's phone buzzed. 1 new text message.

**Hey, MJ. Sorry I didn't get back to you. What're you up to?**

MJ's frown deepened. She'd called nine hours ago, he hadn't called back, and now was texting with no explanation as to why.

Typical Peter.

 **Gaming. Wbu?** MJ replied, not addressing his ghosting.

Typical MJ.

 **Just got back from being at the compound all day,** he replied. **I'm beat. Can I text you tomorrow?**

MJ left him on Read for a few minutes, trying to decide what she should write. What she _wanted_ to do was write a wall of words that he would probably need a TLDR for. But the insecure side of herself didn't want to scare him off. She wanted to believe he was actually at the Avengers compound, but like, _was_ he?

She bit her lower lip, teeth sinking in as her mind cycled through all of her options, all while her roommate fucked some guy on the bed behind her. Should she call him on the balcony? Should she text him back a stream of insults and accusations? Should she send a nude, for Christ's sake?

Before she could reply, she saw the three blinking dots and sucked in her breath.

 **Also** **I miss you.**

MJ's heart skipped a beat. She was uber grateful she hadn't sent him the nude.

 **I miss you, too,** she replied. She stared at the screen, debating over typing something else. Something daring. Something that pushed the buttons.

 **I'll bet,** he replied. **Been forever since I've seen you.**

This was it. This would be her chance. Yeah, Bethany and her whatever were here, but they'd be done soon and the guy would leave. That's how hook-ups worked, usually.

And it wasn't like she was going to _hook up_ with Peter. They couldn't go from kissing occasionally to suddenly getting it on in her dorm room bed. That didn't make any sense.

But she did want to see him. She hadn't seen him in so long. She missed him. She had friends, but they were all at other colleges. Peter was the only person she had close by.

She wanted to see him.

 **Did you wanna come over?** MJ typed, pressing send before she could convince herself it was a bad idea.

**Like . . To your dorm?**

**Yeah.**

The three dots appeared and then disappeared several times.

**What for?**

MJ dropped her head into her free hand, her knees pulled to her chest in the computer chair. He was such a fucking dork. That was the only word for him. It was like, maybe them not doing anything wasn't even her fault. Maybe he was just _that_ oblivious.

The music of the video game played uncontested for a solid few minutes before she replied to him.

**So we can cuddle? Idk.**

The moment the message said 'read,' MJ felt the panic beginning to settle in.

What was she _thinking?_ Inviting him over to _cuddle_? In the middle of the night? Good God. What the Hell? What the _Hell?_

 **Are you drunk?** he replied.

Well, fuck. Fucking fuck.

How _embarrassing_.

She was _that_ frigid, wasn't she?

 **Yeah,** she lied. **I drank a lot earlier. You caught me.**

**Not that I don't want to but like . . . Your roommate is there and it might be weird.**

**Yeah. Makes sense.**

**I mean unless you really want me to?**

MJ wanted to cry. She actually wanted to shed a single tear. There was no way to know if he thought she just wanted to cuddle or if she wanted to hook up for their first time randomly at midnight on a damn Tuesday, but he didn't sound enthusiastic about either. It felt like he pitied her.

When the ten minute mark of her ignoring his reply passed, he sent another text.

**I've been thinking about you, though.**

**Yeah?** was the only thing she could manage to reply. Behind her, a flash of light spilling into the room indicated that Bethany's hook-up was leaving.

**Yeah. I might come over anyway.**

MJ's fingers trembled, her cheeks flushed with heat as she tried to think of something to say. She wasn't the type of girl to send flirtatious texts but what if the anxiety she'd been having lately wasn't unfounded?

What if he was getting bored because she wouldn't put out?

It wasn't that she didn't _want_ to. She was just terrified. The thought of never doing anything with him was less horrible than the thought of doing things with him and being bad at it.

 **What would you do if you did?** she replied, taking a deep breath and trying to set her anxiety into a more bearable place inside her body.

He replied faster than he'd been replying all week.

**Hold you.**

Well, that wasn't what she'd expected. It was . . . Sweet. Not sexual or lewd. Innocent.

But maybe that was the problem.

 **And what else would you do?** She asked, her legs shaking with the sheer intensity of the situation. She knew she was pushing the boundaries—pushing her _own_ boundaries as though she wasn't too scared to.

 **Touch you,** he replied. **If that was okay with you.**

MJ's hand shook. **More than okay.**

God, what was she doing? What was she _doing_?

**Where?**

Such a simple question. One word. Five little words.

They said so much.

 **Wherever you want,** she replied.

His reply took a prolonged moment.

**Fuck.**

MJ's heartrate picked up until she felt herself struggling to catch her breath. She couldn't stop thinking about the things Bethany's hook-up had said—couldn't stop hearing them being said in Peter's voice. Couldn't stop imagining him holding her down, taking all of the strength he used to do whatever the fuck it was when he beat the shit out of criminals, and use it on her. Couldn't stop thinking about what it might feel like to have her hands webbed to a headboard while he did things to her that overwhelmed her until she was begging him to let her breathe.

Maybe that was the real issue. Maybe it wasn't the fact that she was scared to do it.

MJ closed her eyes against the bright glare of her computer screen.

Maybe she was scared of _what_ she wanted him to do.

 **But you're drunk,** came his second text, **so we really shouldn't text like this. You might wake up tomorrow and be like fuck that. So, we should call it a night.** **Have a good sleep.**

Her heart sank.

Damn her for lying about drinking.

**Okay. Night, Peter.**

His reply was the kneeling boy emoji followed by a heart.

MJ set her phone down. She felt like her eyelids weighed two tons. She yawned, stretching her long arms out above her head. Peter may have been a busy guy and MJ may not have been the best girlfriend, but they missed each other. Everything else could wait until another day.

After typing goodnight to Betty, she logged out of her game for the night. She grabbed her satin bonnet from the bedside table and pushed her curls up into it, yawning a second time. The cotton sheets of her bed were a welcome comfort after the horrid first half of her day. She could sense sleep creeping up on her the second her head hit the pillow.

She scrolled through Twitter, accepting a follower into her private account, and then prepared to post a status to her 5—now 6—followers.

_**Remind me never to eat Hot Pockets 2 seconds after they're done again.** _

Right before she drifted off, a single tear rolled sideways over the bridge of her nose.


	2. Chapter Two

****

**Chapter Two**

"Peter, you all right?"

Peter looked up from his ringing phone, eyes wide. Pepper gazed at him from the chair beside his, an expression of concern knitting her brows together. He glanced down again, seeing MJ's name and a photo of her sticking her tongue out at him on the screen.

She was calling again.

He hadn't seen her in two weeks, hadn't heard her voice through the receiver in longer, and he missed the crap out of her. She just always seemed to call him when he was in the middle of an Avengers meeting, or while he was wrist deep in meatball marinara at work, or while he was tinkering with something fragile in the lab at the compound.

Their last text message conversation had been . . . Interesting.

Peter and MJ were not exactly on the other side of second base yet. Which he was fine with, of course, because she was obviously shy. But the issue was that she was so shy that her getting drunk and texting him . . . Well, _that_ had been a little unsettling.

Not in a bad way, of course—in a way that caught him off guard. It threw him off-kilter and his brain had gone careening into space. He'd just replied with his _other_ brain.

Because, yeah, he wanted to go to her dorm and cuddle. Yeah, he wanted to hold her. Hell _yeah_ , he wanted to touch her.

It was just the 'everywhere' part that made him nervous.

Peter's mouth hung open as he came back to the present. MJ would have to wait—he'd get back to her later.

"Uhh, yeah," he said, smiling. "I'm good. Yeah, I'm good. What . . . What were you saying, sir?"

The lawyer across the desk, hands steepled in front of him, offered a mirthless smile. "Do you have somewhere you need to be, Mr. Parker?"

"I, uhh—" Peter's eyes slid back to Pepper, and then he shook his head. "Nope. Nope, I don't."

"Then we can proceed?" the lawyer asked.

"Yep," Peter said, sticking his phone into the front pocket of his backpack, on the floor. "Go ahead."

"Right." The lawyer reached onto the desktop and held up a piece of paper. He adjusted the glasses at the tip of his nose. "What we have here is the will of one Tony Stark, and the stipulations he requested within it."

Confused because it had been over a year and the will had already been read, Peter shot Pepper a look. She nodded in encouragement to him as if to say, _It's fine_.

The lawyer continued, "'Upon the nineteenth birthday of one Peter Parker, I bequeath all control of my charity, the Sakovia Association and Trust. He is to oversee all functions and facets of the company, including but not limited to: housing, finances, food, and needs of the recipients.'" The lawyer cleared his throat, glancing at Peter. He continued, "'Don't screw it up, kid. If you screw it up, Pepper's taking the suit. If you _really_ screw it up, Cap's gonna come take it. You don't want Cap to come take it.'"

Peter stared at the lawyer, hearing Tony's voice like a fire alarm in his head. He felt like his ears were filling with water because _what_ the _huh?_ Had he heard the lawyer correctly?

His throat went dry as he turned to look at Pepper.

"Why nineteen?" His voice was a squeak. "Why—why nineteen . . . ?"

"He—" Pepper looked at the lawyer, the two of them nodding as though they'd discussed it, "Well, you know, he wanted you to at least try school out for one year before he gave you the choice. And since you seem pretty unenthusiastic about what you're currently doing . . ."

Peter grimaced. He was in university right now, but he wasn't interested in it. As important as high school was, he just couldn't quiet his spirit down enough to do college with any real direction. He wanted to be out swinging, taking on criminals and actually _doing_ something to make the world a better place. He was an _Avenger,_ for fuck's sake.

He'd been to space.

"Sakovia Association and Trust," Pepper said, "is a charity that Tony set up shortly after the catastrophe in Sakovia. It's for the victims of the incident. It provides housing, food, relocation, immigration lawyers, and grants to the people who were displaced or harmed as a result. And he left it to you."

"To _me_?" Peter pointed at himself with both forefingers, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull. "He left a _charity_ to _me_? I don't . . . _What?"_

The lawyer smiled, but it wasn't as warm as Pepper's. "What an honor, Mr. Parker. The Sakovia Association is a charity that I have personally seen do a lot of good. There are a lot of things that it provides for the Sakovians. You should feel proud that he chose you."

Peter felt like he was going to throw up.

A charity was a huge like, _massive_ thing. He didn't know the first thing about running the sandwich shop he worked at, and he was the store freakin' manager. How the Hell was he going to run a charity? How did a person even _run_ a charity?

He jumped to his feet and began to pace.

"Mrs. Stark, I . . . I don't think I can do this," he said, running his fingers through his hair out of anxiety. "I mean, I know I'm like, smart or whatever, but like . . . Really? A charity?"

"Peter," Pepper said with a soothing tone, standing from her chair. "Tony trusted you. He wouldn't have given you a job you couldn't handle. There's lots of people who can help you. _I_ can help you. He chose you for this."

"Well, he chose the wrong person!" Peter cried, throwing his hands out at his sides. "He picked the wrong person, Mrs. Stark, ma'am. I can't do this. It's too big of a job."

Pepper gave him a look, and Peter knew what she was trying to say without her even having to say it.

He was Spider-Man. He spent his free-time shooting white string into the sky and leaping off of 75-story buildings. He'd fought in a war with Thanos' chin and a bunch of aliens, right alongside the God of Thunder and a bald lady with a spear. He'd been to _space_.

Peter had done life-threatening things, he'd run at them headfirst, and now he was shying away from the last thing Tony wanted him to do?

"Tony never doubted you," Pepper said, coming to put her hands upon Peter's shoulders. She gave him a gentle smile. "Not even for a second. It's a job that's just the right size for you."

Peter studied her, trying his best to shove aside his anxiety for a moment.

"What do I . . . What do I have to do?"

"It's not a full-time job," Pepper said, squeezing his shoulders. Her eyes crinkled at the edges with her endless kindness. "You're the owner in name. You make all the final decisions, appear to speak at the fundraisers, and sign off on any new ideas the team comes up with."

Relief trickled in. "There's a team?"

"Yes, a team that I'm a part of," Pepper replied. "And you can choose who you want to be the face of the brand."

Peter nodded, knowing she meant that she wanted him to choose between having himself as the face or the spider. He took a deep breath. If Tony had made this decision and added it to his will, then he must have trusted that Peter could do it. He had school, yeah, but it wasn't like his job at the sandwich shop was end-all, be-all. He could quit without batting an eye—Joe's Subs would survive.

"I . . . I mean, I guess I'll do it," Peter said. His voice strengthening, he said, "Yeah. Yeah, I'll do it."

"Really?" Pepper's eyes lit up and she pulled Peter into a tight hug. "Peter, Tony would be so happy."

"Congratulations, Mr. Parker," the lawyer said and for once, his smile didn't look like a mask. "I'm sure despite your age, you'll do a fantastic job. Mr. Stark didn't make decisions like these lightly."

* * *

A few minutes later, Pepper and Peter were standing on the sidewalk outside the law firm near an expensive-looking fountain shaped like leaping dolphins. The sun was high and hot overhead so Peter regretted wearing a suit. He adjusted his backpack on his shoulder, offering a small smile down to his late mentor's wife. Somehow, he'd shot up a few more inches since the Snap, putting him at well over six-foot.

In spite of his height, he felt so small

"I know you're nervous, Pete," she said, reaching for his hand. She gave it a fond squeeze, the same way she had done to his shoulder in the lawyer's office. "But don't be. Tony was _so_ sure about this."

"He was?" His brows rose. "About me? Like, specifically?"

"You specifically. Trust me, it's not as scary as it seems like it's going to be. It's paperwork, speeches, and dinners."

"Speeches?" His hand tightened around his backpack strap. "Me and speeches—not exactly friends. Remember before my class trip to Europe?"

Pepper laughed slightly. "We can work on it. Everything's going to be great. Can you come tomorrow to Stark Industries and meet me in the lobby? We can go over the first tasks, which will be to get you ready for a press conference and introduce you. And don't forget to choose who you want to be the face of the organization. Once you decide, you've gotta stick to it."

Peter tried to make his smile look less like a grimace. "Sure. I mean, I have a class in the morning, but I can come after?"

"Great," she said, and then she hugged him again.

Peter allowed himself to relax into it for a moment. It was the closest he could get to Tony.

Everything was going to be fine.

Tony was the smartest person he'd ever met, and the most important person in his life besides Aunt May, Happy, and MJ. He trusted Tony, even though he was terrified. He was nineteen, but he'd lived a lot of life so far. If he could risk his life every night to help people with his powers, then he could spend his days helping people in other ways.

He wasn't sure how good he'd be at the speech part, but everything Peter did, he tried his best at. That's what mattered.

"Don't forget to ask Happy and May to call me about the venue I found for the wedding!" Pepper said as she headed toward the black car that had pulled up to the curb. "Bye, Peter."

"I will, Mrs. Stark." He lifted a hand in goodbye and then rubbed the back of his neck. "See you later."

Peter watched Pepper's car drive off, and then he tilted his head back to gaze up at the skyscrapers around him. He heaved a sigh.

He couldn't believe he was _actually_ doing this. A charity was a huge responsibility, and he knew how devastating the Sakovia incident had been. The effects of it were still being experienced. Judging by the importance Pepper seemed to place on the organization, it was something Tony found extremely important to keep up with.

A string of determination stretched taut in Peter's heart he looked up at the side of a tall brick building nearby. A billboard depicting Iron Man's photo and a memorial message to him rested high up on the wall.

 _I'm making the right decision,_ Peter thought. _This is what he wanted me to do, so I'm gonna do it, and I'm gonna do it right._

Peter felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Turning his head, he looked behind him down the busy, crowded street. His ears picked up the sounds of the city, focusing and honing in.

Three streets away, a corner store was being robbed.

 _That's my cue_ , he thought, all thoughts of the charity dissipating as the faint voices of a terrified employee reached his eardrums.

Peter held tight to his backpack and took off running towards the situation, slinking off into an alley to scale his way up to the roof of a building. Once there, he ripped off his business suit, revealing his _real_ suit. As he ran, he shoved his three-piece and tie into his backpack. He pulled his mask out from the big pocket and yanked it down over his head.

"Hello, Peter," came Karen's voice from inside, all manner of numbers and information popping up on the sides of the screens in the eyes of his mask. "What can I help you with today?"

"Hi, Karen," Peter said, breathless as he put his backpack on both arms and sprinted to the edge of the building. "Where exactly am I headed?"

"The 7-11 on the corner of 5th and 6th street," came Karen's cool-toned voice.

"Best way in?" Peter asked, leaping off the 20-story building and shooting a web string to the building across the way. The wind rushed past his body as he soared. He ignored the whoops and hollers of _Spider-Man! It's Spider-Man!_ from the chaotic street below.

"The front door," Karen replied. "The register is right inside, to the left."

"Coolest way in?" Peter shot another web, this time to the previous side of the street, pulling himself further down the road. The familiar feeling of weightlessness assailed his stomach and he couldn't help but let out a cry of pure joy. Nothing would _ever_ beat flying.

Except maybe kissing MJ.

That was kinda nice.

"The window, Peter," Karen said. "Though I don't recommend it. It would cost quite a bit to replace it."

"Damn," Peter said, landing on top of a roof and dashing to the other side. He jumped off and slung himself further, as fast as he could. Then, he brightened. "Oh, oh, oh! I just got paid from Joe's! Does my bank account have enough to cover it?"

"Accessing bank account . . ." Karen was silent, and then she said, "You have 576$ in your bank account, Peter."

"Oh, sick. That's more than I thought. How much would replacing a store window cost?"

Peter felt giddy as a particularly high throw forced him into a spectacular back flip. A whoop of elation tore out of his lips, and his backpack lifted off of his back.

Nice.

"500$."

". . . The window it is, then."

Rounding the corner of 4th street, Peter whipped around and cut a downward diagonal towards the 7-11. The voices inside were louder, and he could clearly see what was going on.

The clerk stood behind the register, frantically crying and slapping money on the counter from the drawer. A man held her at gunpoint, roaring orders and casting terrified glances out the door.

"Looking for me?" Peter cried as loud as he could before the bottoms of his feet connected with the glass window of the store.

There was a split second where Peter thought it might not actually break and then, with an ear-splitting noise, it shattered into thousands of pieces.

Peter soared into the store, smashing into the back of the gunman. The employee shrieked and ducked as Peter and his victim whirled around in a half-circle the air. Peter's back crashed through the cigarette display and, subsequently, the western brick wall of the shop. He felt a dull pain rippling between his shoulder blades but shook it off as he and the man rolled onto the concrete outside.

The people on the sidewalk cried out in shock and fear, scattering like ants to a safe distance and leaving Peter to wrestle with the nameless man.

His foot caught Peter on the chin, stunning him for just enough time to get to his feet. Peter used the momentum of the kick to do his second backflip of the day, and then he crouched down with his fists up. His gaze lit upon the hole in the shop, within which the employee was staring open-mouthed and wide-eyed from. He grimaced beneath the breathable fabric of his mask seeing all the broken pieces of brick littering the sidewalk.

"Well, shit the bed," Peter said. "That's . . . That's bad."

"Should I tell you how much fixing the structural damage of the store will cost?" Karen asked, voice still calm.

The criminal whipped his pistol out and cocked it, aiming it directly at Peter's head.

" _No_ , Karen!" Peter yelled, grabbing the gunman's wrist before he could pop a shot into Peter's face. The man swung with his other fist, forcing Peter to duck out of the way and slam an uppercut beneath his jaw to daze him. "I'd rather dream about a time before I owed 7-11 copious amounts of money."

"Do you mean five minutes ago, Peter?"

"Stuff a sock in it."

Peter twisted the man's arm behind his back and pushed forward on the pads of his feet. He slammed the culprit up against the wall, right next to the hole. With all the quickness of his reflexes, he grabbed the gun and webbed the man to the bricks, staggering backward to catch his breath. Unloading the bullets from the gun, he tossed it against the wall with a web net for good measure. The bullets tumbled to the ground with several quiet _tinks_.

"You're in for a world of hurt when the police get here," Peter said, laughing. "I don't know why you freaks think you can get away with robbing stores in _my_ city. I catch you every time."

"Fuck you, Spider-Man!" the gunman shouted, and then he grunted as he struggled in the bonds of the webbing. "You think you're so slick. One day, you're not gonna catch someone. One day, you're gonna fail."

"Someone's got a potty mouth," Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Wait right here. The nice policemen will wash your mouth out with soap. What's your favorite kind? Scented or unscented?"

"Suck my dick."

Peter had to force himself not to laugh. These people never changed. Petty criminals were nowhere near as dangerous or as terrifying as aliens or Thanos, but they were predictable.

And he _did_ catch them every time.

"Stay here with him until the police get here, okay?" Peter told the assembled crowd, most of which already had their phones up to their ears. A few were taking photos and videos of him, but it wasn't as many as it used to be. The world was pretty used to Spider-Man and other superheroes by now.

Then, he turned to the store clerk, who now looked panicked.

"I'm gonna lose my job," she said, face pale and drawn.

"Karen, can we take care of . . . That?" Peter asked, gesturing to the hole and the bricks and the rapidly-panicking 7-11 employee.

"Sure, Peter. Should I notify Happy?"

"Notify Happy?!" Underneath his mask, Peter felt his own pale skin losing what little color it had. He began to sweat, and it wasn't from the heat or exertion. "Why would you . . . I mean, why would you say something like that? That's . . . Counterpr . . . That's . . . No. Why? No."

"You don't have enough money for the damage, Peter."

"Right. Okay. Yeah." Peter placed a hand to his forehead. He muttered, "Notify him. Tell him what happened. I gotta go."

Then, he turned to the employee and flashed her a thumbs-up. It was _so_ stupid, but the dork train was already off the track. He could flagellate himself in shame later.

"Stark Industries will take care of . . . Well, of _that_. You're not gonna lose your job."

"Nope," the employee said, tears filling her eyes. "I'm gonna lose my job."

This was going terribly.

"No, you're not. You're not gonna lose your job, ma'am—miss—is it ma'am? Whatever. You're gonna be okay, I promise!"

"Yep. Nope. Uh, yep. I'm gonna lose it."

"Right, well . . . Sorry . . . About that." He clapped his hands and gave her a couple of finger guns. "Okay, bye."

Without another second to spare and with the blaring sirens of the approaching police chasing him, Peter dashed a couple of steps toward the awed crowd, shot a web 20 stories up the building across the street, and hauled himself into the air. A few swings and window scales later, and he was safely atop a roof a few streets away.

"Karen, that was so bad," he said, dropping his backpack and collapsing onto the roof. He panted for breath. "Like, that was really bad."

"It wasn't your best work, Peter."

Peter groaned, trying to ignore the faint ache in his back. It hurt, but it wouldn't leave a bruise. He asked Karen to turn up the UV protection on his eye screens and then gazed up at the sky. The sky overhead was clear and blue, a perfect late May day, and he was now in debt to Stark Industries. It was only a matter of time before Happy called him to yell at him for being irresponsible not even one month before the wedding where he was supposed to be best man.

What an absolutely _shitty_ day.

He'd woken up so late that he missed his first class entirely. He hadn't known how to tie a tie and had spent thirty minutes finding a good YouTube video that could teach him how to do it. He'd forgotten to call for a Stark Industries car to get to his meeting with Pepper and the lawyer, ending up taking a subway that smelled like straight-up ass. To top it all off, he'd made a fool of himself in the lobby of the law firm because he'd dashed in like the Devil was on his heels, frantically calling out, _I'm here for the meeting! I'm here for the meeting!_

Peter closed his eyes.

It was times like these he wished he could call MJ, but he felt like a freakin' loser for not having called her back. The first time had been an accident, the third had been because he'd forgotten, and the sixth had been because he was busy. After the tenth day of text-only communication, Peter had been too ashamed to call her.

Was he an idiot? Yeah.

MJ was like, the best thing that had ever happened to him. She was so strong and funny and deep and just . . . She was MJ. He was lucky she'd chosen a complete fool like him, and he was even luckier that she'd chosen him every day since their Senior class trip.

Honestly though, he wasn't even sure she liked him that much anymore. They'd kissed maybe ten times, and one time was on accident. He definitely _wanted_ to take it to the next level, but he was so nervous that he'd never tried. MJ didn't even like it when he put his hand on her lower back in passing.

The one time he did, she'd glared at him in that MJ kind-of way and said, " _What, you think because you're a man, you have the right to touch my lower back just because we're passing each other?"_ Even though he'd felt a small ripple of heat pass through his body at the fire in her eyes, he'd snatched his hand back faster than he could blink.

If MJ didn't want him touching her back, why the Hell would she want to make out with him?

But man, golly gee, did he want to swing up to her balcony, push her up against the wall, and kiss the living daylights out of her. Sometimes, he sat on the edge of the roof next to her building, watching her play video games at her computer and laugh on her headset to Betty for hours. She always wore tank tops and underwear and it was like, holy shit. She was so, like, for lack of a better word . . . _Hot._

But Peter loved her.

MJ didn't want to be touched, so he wasn't going to touch her unless she gave him the go-ahead, even if he daydreamed about pushing her up against the wall of every place ever and shoving his tongue down her throat. Or grabbing her hair and feathering his lips across her ridiculously amazing collarbones. Or touching her and seeing if the fire in her pretty eyes burned brighter when he showed her just how he'd touch her everywhere. Or crushing her against all the hard planes of his body and . . .

Okay, what?

"What the actual fuck?" Peter breathed, holding his palm to his forehead and shaking his head. "I'm officially a freak. I'm a pervert. Cease, Peter."

"Is everything all right, Peter?" Karen's voice came in. "Your heart rate has increased."

"I'm fine, Karen!" Peter practically yelled, ripping his mask off.

His entire face had heated up, and it was taking every fiber in his being to muster up the strength to erase the filthy images from his mind. It wasn't new for him to think about MJ that way, but it was new for him to think of himself being so . . .

Well, Peter was more the quiet type. He'd never been with a girl like _that_ before, and even though he loved MJ, he wasn't going to lie to himself. MJ would wipe the floor with his face. She was definitely the one in control.

" _Wherever you want,"_ she'd said. That implied giving up control. That implied wanting him to handle things.

Maybe she wanted control in all things _but_ the bedroom.

"God damnit," Peter muttered, lightly punching himself in the side of the head. His feet swung off of the edge of the building. "Stop being such a freak."

He stood up and put his mask back on.

"Should I cancel your book order for _Fifty Shades Freed_?" Karen asked.

Peter wondered if Karen was a real human. Like, was she sentient? Did robots have senses of humor? Did they read minds?

"Karen?"

"Yes, Peter?"

"Please, with all due respect, shut up."

"Affirmative."

Peter shot a string of web outward and began swinging, headed for the Avengers compound.

The day before, he'd gone in there to work on something for his Engineering class, and since it was due at the end of the week, he needed to get back there to finish it. As he swung to the edge of the city and called for a Stark Industries car, he thought about the charity and tried to get himself excited about it.

The only experience he'd had with that sort of thing was watching the parents of the teens in _Vampire Diaries_ host constant parties and fundraisers. Which was probably nothing like what the Sakovia Association did. He was sure the charity had a lot less fangs and blood and witches and Delena. Whatever his tasks would be, he knew he had to do right by his mentor.

He had to make Tony proud.

Happy called on the drive and even though he promised to handle the damage at the 7-11, he wasn't glad to do it. He berated Peter for a solid minute before Aunt May hopped onto the phone and reprimanded him for a solid five more, and then they both gushed excitedly about the cakes they'd tasted for their wedding. By the time Peter got to the compound, he felt like someone had tossed him into a blender.

He was _overjoyed_ to end that phone call.

* * *

Peter spent the next six hours in one of the labs.

Most of the Avengers were off in other countries and states on missions, except for Hawkeye, who never really spent any time talking to Peter because he was always training outside. Aside from random employees and other scientists, Peter rarely saw anyone when he came in to mess around.

There was a small lab in one of the lower floors that had all the equipment he needed and was rarely used, so he usually came to work and tinker. All he had to do was put on Tony's glasses, fire up the computer and machines, turn some music up on his phone, and he would be lost for hours.

" _Why do you always come here?"_ Happy had asked one day when he was stopping by to check on Peter for May. " _And why do you listen to that screaming crap? It literally sounds like pigs dying."_

" _No, it doesn't. I can understand what they're saying just fine."_

" _Yes, it does. It sounds . . . Like pigs dying. It sounds like they are dying—"_

" _No—"_

" _Yes, it—"_

" _No, it does—"_

" _Peter,"_ Happy had said slowly, _"I'm your elder. It sounds like pigs are bleeding and dying!"_

" _No, it does not. It has feeling!"_

" _Yes it—Feeling."_

" _Yes, feeling. You wouldn't get it. You're old."_

" _Well, when I'm married to your aunt, you're grounded."_

" _I'm nineteen."_

" _And you'll be nineteen and grounded. So, why do you come here, kid?"_

Peter had stopped messing with a project and looked across the lab at his future uncle-in-law. He'd pushed the glasses up on the bridge of his nose and given Happy a serious look.

" _Remember when I told you that I saw his face everywhere?"_ he'd said. _"When I come here . . . I still see it. I still see it, but it doesn't hurt anymore."_

Happy's answering smile hadn't quite reached his eyes.

Peter left the compound around 11:00PM, taking a company car back to the edge of the city and swinging his way through the dark night to the college campus.

He scaled up to the roof of the building across the street from MJ's. He knew she couldn't see him from where he was, but he could see directly into her window. Below him, he could hear every part of the city: from the cars to the people to the animals.

The only room he wanted to focus on was hers.

MJ's light was off. She was curled up in her computer chair as usual, her beautiful hair in messy, kinky curls that cascaded from the top of her head. She wasn't speaking into her headset, but she was typing on the keyboard. Peter flushed when he heard the rather loud, obnoxious sounds of her dormmate, Bethany, hooking up with the same guy from last time. He tried to tune it out, but it was difficult when the guy she was with was quite . . .

Vocal.

" _Fuck,"_ the guy said. " _You're so fucking wet."_

It wasn't abnormal to hear Bethany hooking up, however hearing the guy talk like that? Completely new. Peter had never heard anyone talk like that before the last time this dude was here. It was weird and he hadn't been able to erase it from his memory. It seemed so degrading, like it would make the girl angry.

But Bethany seemed to like it.

Peter wondered if MJ liked that sort of thing, too.

He shook his head out. This was ridiculous. He was literally _such_ a freak. He wasn't sitting on the roof to watch her. He liked knowing she was safe and that for an hour each night, at least, he was watching _over_ her. It didn't matter how tired he was, or even how bruised up he might be, he always showed up.

" _Come on, you can do it,"_ came the hook-up's voice. " _You can fucking doing it, baby. Come on my cock."_

His _what?_ Why was he calling it that? Was that what you were supposed to call it?

Bethany moaned.

Peter cringed. Was that how a woman was _supposed_ to sound? She sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

In her computer chair, MJ shifted and glanced down at her phone. Her headset was so loud that there was no way she could hear what Peter was hearing. She reached up to rub the back of her neck, rolling her head backward to crack it as she did so. The blueish tint of the computer light cast a greyish color over her normally russet skin, skin he though looked soft in any lighting.

" _Gonna come for me, baby?"_

Peter stared at the curve of MJ's throat, the gentle slope of her elegant, long neck. He could hear the steady beating of her heart, which was in direct contrast to the rapid heartrates of Bethany and her hook-up.

What would it be like to kiss her there, right on her pulse? Would she moan like Bethany? Would she whine and whimper like her? He couldn't imagine someone as mellow and strong as MJ _whining_. Not even if he was kissing her neck.

Yet he could.

Peter yearned to see her. He wished he hadn't gone so long without calling her back. He wished he weren't so insecure, or so busy, or so self-centered. He wished he were confident enough to know that she liked him without any shadow of a doubt, but he just . . .

MJ was MJ, but she was also _MJ_. That meant that even though he knew she had a unique personality—one that he totally and completely _adored_ —she was also hard to read. He didn't know what she'd like or what she wanted. Hell, he didn't even know if she was attracted to him physically. Maybe she was only staying with him because she was scared to hurt his feelings with a break-up.

His heart felt like it might shatter into pieces at the thought.

" _Fuck, fuck, fuck,"_ came the hook-up's voice, loud over the noise of Bethany's desperate cries of _yes_ and _harder._

Would MJ want it harder?

Peter's control was slipping. He felt like he was in a daze, watching MJ's slender hand brush along her curls. He wanted to see her fingers curl around his bed sheets, and he had no idea where he'd gotten that mental image from. It wasn't like he'd have any idea what he was _doing_. He just knew what he wanted to do.

And now, he knew what he wanted to say.

He pulled his phone out to send her a text as if he weren't creeping on her from the roof of the next-door apartment building.

**Whacha up to?**

She picked up her phone seconds after it lit up.

**Nm. Gaming. You?**

He contemplated telling her everything—that he was watching her and had been doing it for months. That he could hear everything her roommate was doing and that he wanted MJ to kick her out so he could come in and do it all to her. That he loved her.

But he couldn't.

 **I miss you again,** he said instead, his mind still lost in a haze that was as lustful as it was delirious. **Do you miss me?**

Looking at her, watching her eyes study the phone screen, he felt his heart beating faster. Even if for some reason she didn't like him anymore, he'd always watch over her. He'd always protect her, even though she was the strongest person he knew.

 **Of course,** she replied. **Is something wrong?**

**Yeah. I miss you. That's what's wrong.**

MJ held the phone to her chest, clasping her hands over it as she smiled at her computer screen. It caused Peter's heart to skip a beat. In his ears, he could hear Bethany's moans continuing to ring as they went on and on and on.

**Well, I'm not drunk tonight. You can come over. I'll kick Bethany out.**

Peter felt heat rising to his cheeks.

**That's not a good idea.**

He saw her frown. **Why?**

Peter hesitated, his mind still spinning and ears continuing to ring.

 **Because,** he replied, **it's not safe for me to be around you right now.**

**Bruh wtf? With your cryptic-ass. What are you talking about?**

Peter looked away, closing his eyes. He didn't even know what he was thinking. He just knew what he wanted to do, and that it wasn't safe for him to go there. Not when his blood was running this hot.

Not when Bethany and her hook-up wouldn't shut the fuck up.

**I'm scared.**

**Of WHAT?** There was a perturbed expression on her face, illuminated by the computer screen. Her brow was furrowed, lips pressed together. **Are you the one that's drunk this time?**

**Of what I'll do to you.**

She shook her head, clearly confused. Peter saw her thumbs flying across the screen, tapping away as she frantically responded.

**What do you mean? What would you do?**

Peter answered without thinking. He answered with the wrong brain. He answered with his indulgences and his weakness and his failure to protect her from himself. Even though it made his heart clench, all he heard was what the hook-up was saying.

And he typed it out.

**I wanna fuck you until we fall asleep.**

Peter regretted it the moment he sent the message.

What the fuck? It didn't make any sense. It only made sense in the context of Bethany's hook-up. MJ had her headset on—she had no idea that the hook-up had _just_ said those words to her roommate. She was going to think Peter was a complete simp.

Which he was.

He scrambled to his feet, turned, and started booking it across the roof. Within seconds, he was soaring through the air again, the coolness of the night calming his spirit and bringing clarity. He breathed a breath of determination as his decision flashed across his mind.

Spider-Man would have to be the face of the Sakovia Association. Peter couldn't risk anyone knowing his name in any public capacity. Not when he had people he cared about. Spider-Man would have to be the one to make all the decisions, and he'd have to be the one to give all the public appearances for the brand. It was the only way he could protect everyone.

Peter may not have been confident, but Spider-Man was.

Spider-Man was strong enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my writing, you can find more at my website.
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> 
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	3. Chapter Three

****

**Chapter Three**

When MJ got to the courtyard for the first official meet-up of her Art club, she was wholly unsurprised to see no one there.

She had suspected and feared that this would happen, but it didn't make it hurt any less. It felt like rejection, like her flier was uglier than the other fliers. Maybe Eyebrows took all the people she would have attracted to her club with _his_ fliers. Maybe his fliers were just that much cooler than hers.

 _Lame, lame, lame_ , she thought, her misery trickling deep down into the depths of her stomach. She picked at a loose thread on the ripped knees of her jeans and sighed. Maybe she ought to just give up on making friends. She'd never been able to manage it in twelve years of elementary, middle, and high school, so why would she suddenly be able to manage it in college? Hell, her own boyfriend barely wanted to see her.

Maybe she was meant to be alone.

MJ tucked a loose curl behind her ear and pulled a book out of her backpack. _Fifty Shades of Grey._ She knew this was about to be straight trash but she was never one to back down from a reading challenge. If anyone asked why she was reading it?

She'd say it was satire.

"Let's see what the fuck the fuss is all about," she murmured to herself, opening to the first page of the book and settling in.

Time wore on, the sun beating down in a relentless haze across MJ's back, and no other people showed up. Any time a person passed the table, she couldn't help but glance up with a small beam of hope in her eyes. They all kept walking. Her afternoon was full of page turning and sighs. A lot of sighing. Sighs of discomfort, sighs of exasperation, sighs of frustration. Lotta sighs.

Man, this book was . . . Somethin' else.

MJ wasn't one to be moved by rudimentary prose, especially romance novels, but this . . . It was ridiculous. It was fucking ridiculous and it was cringe, but it was everything. She may have just been a complete newb to all things sex, but it wasn't that difficult to imagine herself as Anastasia and Peter as . . .

Oh, God. Really? _Really?_

"Could I _get_ any lamer?" MJ muttered, turning to the next page of her current chapter.

A look of faint disgust twisted on her face as she read but even as she did, a familiar twisting began to worm its way through her gut. The writing was so bad, but it was just so _not_ bad at the same time. It was like standing on a bridge and watching an earthquake shake it down. You know the bridge is gonna shatter, and you know you're going down into the water, but you don't care. You just stand there and wait to die.

 _Fifty Shades of Grey_ was like waiting to die. But like, a _really_ good death.

On the tabletop next to her open book, MJ's phone began to ring. She glanced at it. Her mother, again. Closing her eyes, she debated answering. Her mom was never _not_ drunk and talking to her that way was like talking to a super angry wall. But there was always the chance that it was an emergency. Even if she hated talking to her mom, an emergency would always be worth picking up the phone.

Saving her place in the God-awful guilty pleasure that was _Fifty Shades_ of train wreck, MJ answered the call.

"Mom," she greeted in a flat tone.

"Oh, so _now_ you answer," her mother's voice slurred out of the speaker. "I coulda been dead, you know? You know?"

MJ pressed her lips together, struggling to keep her anger in check. "Yeah. You're right. My bad."

"Psh," her mother scoffed. "You should be sorry. I was calling to see if you're coming over for dinner this weekend. It's Jerome's birthday."

Jerome? Sweaty hands Jerome? Sweaty hands, ashy knees Jerome? The Jerome who's favorite pastime was grabbing MJ's ass no matter how many times she'd slapped him across the face?

As fucking if.

"I got homework, Mom," MJ said, and it wasn't a _total_ lie. "I can't this week."

"You always got homework," her mother grumbled. "Can't you skip it for like, one fuckin' week?"

"No, Mom," MJ said through clenched teeth. "I am on financial aid. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Oh." Her mother was silent for a second and then she said, "Well, it's not my fault your gramma couldn't afford college and shit for me. Sorry I can't afford it for you either."

"Right," MJ said, lowering her eyes to the tabletop. A long time ago, she would have allowed her anger and sadness to mingle and form tears in her eyes. Now, her vision was clear. She was stronger than that, and 100% done with the conversation. "I gotta go, though."

"All right," her mom said begrudgingly. "But what about that Peter kid? You still seeing him?"

"Yes, Mom," MJ answered. "I really have to go."

"Well, wait!" she said. "Why don't you guys come over Sunday for dinner? Me, you, him, and Jerome."

And try to hide how disgusting Jerome was from Peter?

It was humiliating, thinking about Peter seeing the way her mother's boyfriend treated her. MJ was _supposed_ to be strong. She was supposed to be like . . . A sentinel. But whenever she went to her mom's, she became quiet, mousy, and jumpy. She hated walking through the apartment because Jerome might sneak up on her.

She didn't want Peter to see her like that.

"I don't think . . ."

All-of-the-sudden, a familiar face plopped down at the table across from MJ, and the words she wanted to say died in her throat. A cherry-red blush stained her cheeks and with the speed of a cheetah, she slammed her book shut and set it in her lap.

Peter grinned at her across the table, as though it weren't the first time he were seeing her in weeks. He ran his fingers through his messy brown hair, causing it to look all Peter-y.

It made MJ's heart stutter.

"Tell her we'd love to," Peter said.

Curse his enhanced hearing.

"You don't think what?" her mother asked on the other end, impatient.

"Uhh . . . One sec." She covered the mouthpiece and glowered at her boyfriend. "I don't want to go."

"Yeah, come on," he said, wiggling his eyebrows. "I've only met your mom once, at graduation. Let's go to her place for dinner."

MJ shook her head, her glare intensifying. "You don't get it. Her boyfriend is a douche bag, and I don't want to go."

Peter's smile only widened. "Oh, I can handle weird guys. I work with weird guys. You know Steve at the shop? Yeah, he's weird as Hell. Come on, tell her we'll go. It'll be fine."

"Is that Peter?" MJ's heart sank to her toes when her mom began exclaiming from the phone, Peter's voice having slipped through her fingers and into the receiver. "I'm glad _someone_ wants to see me. Tell him day after tomorrow, at six."

"I have a final," MJ lied.

"No, you don't," Peter smirked, then he said louder, "We'll be there, Ms. Jones!"

Why was he doing this to her? Seriously, why?

When her mother finally hung up, MJ held her phone so tightly that she thought she might crack it down the middle. She sent daggers and bullets and lava flowing Peter's way, but he was laughing. Just laughing, like the eternal dork he was.

Why, oh why, did he have to do the Peter-y thing to his hair? It was hard to stay angry at him when his hair was doing the thing and he was wearing a short-sleeved white V-neck that made his arms look preposterous. She wanted to be mad at him just for having the audacity to look so . . . So . . .

 _Ugh_.

"I am so going to kill you," she finally bit out between tightly gritted teeth. The anger made the area around her neck and chest heat up, so she gathered her curls up at the top of her head and wrapped them with the band she wore around her wrist. It was totally _not_ how she was supposed to care for natural hair, but MJ just didn't care. She could go bald and wouldn't even blink. "I literally hate you."

"I know," he chuckled, resting his chin on one hand. "But that's your mom. That's family, you know?"

She opened her mouth, wanting to tell him that he didn't get it, but his hair was too Peter-y. She couldn't get the words to roll off her tongue. Instead, she settled into her typical MJ frown. Her eyes flicked down to his chest and back up to his dark brown irises. She couldn't read anything in them past his fading mirth, and she wondered if he'd seen her book at all. She sure hoped not.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, veiling the suspicion in her tone. "Shouldn't you be in your first class?"

"I left halfway through," he said, averting his eyes for a second. "I got something to do for Mr. Stark today."

Puzzled, MJ's brows met in the middle and she tilted her head to the side. "What?"

"Yeah," he said, the hand that wasn't propping up his chin drumming a short tune on the table. "He like, left me something in his will so I have to . . . Do the thing . . . I guess."

"What thing?"

For some reason, he couldn't meet her gaze. It was weird.

"Run like, a charity, or whatever," he said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I'm gonna do it as the bug, so it won't be me, but like it's still _me_. You know?"

"Whoa," MJ said, blinking in shock. "Like a whole charity? For what?"

"It's called the Sakovia Association and Trust," he explained, still drumming his fingers. He finally looked into her eyes, and it seemed like he was waiting for her reaction. All MJ could think about, however, was the anxious way he was shaking his leg under the table. His knee kept hitting hers and she could tell: he was terrified.

MJ reached across the table and covered his drumming fingers with her own for a moment to still them. He looked down at her hand with the sharpness of his spider-eyes, which she still hadn't quite gotten used to.

Did he not want her to touch him?

Snatching her hand back, it was her turn to avert her eyes in shame.

"What's it do?" she asked.

"It's to help people who got hurt in the Sakovia incident and stuff," he said, his voice quiet. His hands went into his lap. "I'm supposed to head to a meeting about a press conference in an hour."

"That's cool," MJ said, nodding. "Why do you look so . . . Guilty?"

He flinched, almost like she'd struck him, further adding to the strange vibes she was getting. "Guilty? Huh? I'm not guilty. No, I'm good."

"Then why won't you look me in the eyes?" She let out a nervous laugh. "You're not like, breaking up with me, are you? Not that I'm one to care for things as patriarchal as dating, but—"

Peter's gaze snapped up.

He looked her directly in the eyes for a moment, and for some reason, she felt like she could see right down into the recesses of his soul. She felt her heart racing and his gaze smoldering, and she wondered if Christian Grey looked at Ana . . .

No.

No, absolutely not.

MJ was being dramatic. Peter was just looking at her. There was nothing else beyond that. He was just _looking_.

"You look really pretty today," he said softly, his hands still in his lap. "And no—I'm not breaking up with you."

"Ahh," MJ said in protest, ducking her head for a second. A blush warmed her cheeks almost as hot as her back felt with the sun behind it. "I'm like, a troll today. But thanks."

He let out a short, incredulous laugh. "A _troll_ , MJ? What? You think I'd date a troll?"

MJ, being MJ, fixed him with a withering stare. "Oh, so if I wasn't pretty, my personality wouldn't matter and I'd have no value?"

But Peter, Peter who had been dating MJ and her quick wit for an entire year, shot back, "Your personality is the best part of you, MJ." The smirk he gave reached his eyes in a way that made the smolder blare into a fire that MJ didn't quite know what to do with. "Trolls are unintelligent."

"And what am I?" Her blush deepened. "An elf? A faerie?"

"A Queen," he said with an exaggerated grin and roll of his eyes.

"You little shit," she said. The shit-eating grin on his face was enough to earn him a playful smack against the side of his head. He sounded so ridiculous when he said stuff like that, when he looked at her like she was on a dinner plate, and then said something dorky two seconds later.

He was so confusing.

"So what're you up to?" Peter asked. "You were reading?"

"No," MJ said quickly. "And what about you? You don't call me back or see me for two weeks, and now you just randomly find me in the courtyard of our college?"

""Yeah . . . Yeah, about that." Peter hung his head. His hands clasped together on the tabletop. "I'm really . . . I was just . . . MJ, I'm such an idiot. I got nervous when I kept missing your calls, and then I was being stupid. _I_ was being a troll."

"Now _you're_ the troll?"

"Trolls are unintelligent."

MJ sighed. "Just . . . What are you always _doing_? Why don't you just call back at night, or something?"

"Oh, you haven't figured it out already?" he teased, hearkening back to the night she discovered his Spider-Man secret.

"Peter," she warned, but he just laughed.

"Okay, okay. I know," He held up his hands. "There's really no magic reason. I just get so busy or I forget. But I think about you all the time, I promise."

MJ wrinkled her nose against the blush that was trying to reappear on her face. She didn't know if he wanted to talk about the two text conversations they'd had, or how bold he'd been the night before, but she wasn't so sure she could do it _without_ blushing.

"Well, call me back more often," she mumbled, eyes finding his once before looking away again. "If you don't have time to hang out, then the phone is just as good."

"Not _just_ as good. Second-best."

They both laughed.

"Yeah," MJ said. "Second-best. I'm saying there's still things we can do on the phone that will feel just like we're together. How do you think long distance relationships work? I mean . . ."

She trailed off as she realized the way he was looking at her not only indicated that she'd accidentally made an innuendo, but that he knew how out of pocket his texts had been. Out of pocket and thrilling.

"Yeah?" he said, his voice lowering a bit. His eyes searched hers.

"Yeah." She swallowed. "We have cell phones for a reason. We might as well use them."

"Okay."

"Okay." She nodded slowly, definitively. "So . . . Start calling me back."

"All right, I will."

"Good."

"Good."

_Pssh._

Peter's right hand disappeared under the table. The book slid out of her lap, captured at the end of the webbing from his wrist slinger. Her jaw dropped and panic bloomed in her chest when he produced the offending, mortifying novel from _his_ lap and looked at the cover.

"MJ, you so did not buy this book," Peter said, throwing his head back and holding it up so she could face her shame. "You did _not_ buy this _book_!"

"Oh, my God," MJ said, leaning over to snatch the book back. "Just—give it back to me!"

He held it just out of reach. "No. You have to tell me why you bought it."

"No," she said, her voice a low threat.

She leaned across the table and tried to grab the book again, but he was as fast as lightning. MJ scowled and sat down on her side of the table. Peter wasn't going to give up, not when he was a guy and the book she was reading was like, the worst possible book he could discover her reading. She folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with a nonchalant stare.

"So what if I did?" she said. "Is there something wrong with reading smut?"

Peter's smile faltered for a second, the book still held up in the air by his head. His eyes narrowed. "Well . . . No. I guess. I guess not. Is it . . . Is it smut? What is _smut_?"

MJ's lips relaxed into a smirk. When he started panicking, that's when she knew she had him. She knew she was just trying to cover up her embarrassment, but she wasn't about to take her claws out of him yet.

"Open up to the place I marked," she said. "And you'll find out."

"Wait . . ." he said, casting her a wary glance. He set the book down, shaking his head slowly. "No, wait . . . No. I'm not falling for it."

"Scared, loser?" she challenged.

Peter narrowed his eyes into slits and pointed at her. "I'm _not_ fallin' for it, MJ!"

"All right, fine," she said, shrugging.

She placed her hand on top of the book and started to slide it backward. They both looked at each other, and then down at the book, and then Peter snatched it out from beneath her hands. MJ watched with bated breath as he opened it up and his eyes began scanning the page. Back and forth, back and forth, they took in the information, and MJ got to watch as Peter joined her on the earthquake bridge of death.

"Whaaaat theeee fuuuuuck?" he said slowly, and his entire face turned as red as the paint on the table. "Oh, wow. _Wow,_ they . . . Whoa."

"Don't play," she said, a sudden burst of courage coming over her. Right when their eyes met, she struck. "Weren't you the one who said you were gonna fuck me to sleep?"

Peter blanched, looking as pale as a sheet. He closed the book, set it down, and jumped to his feet.

"Um, yeah. Right. So, I gotta go."

"What? You're leaving?" MJ asked, laughing in astonishment as he came around to the side of the table that she sat on. Her shock grew as he hesitated, then leaned down toward her. Her heart stopped when his hand grabbed her chin and pulled her cheek against his lips. The moment his lips touched her skin, his hand let go of her chin and slid down to the column of her throat.

And squeezed.

The heat that radiated from the place he kissed almost made her feel faint.

"I'll see you later," Peter said, his voice gentle, and then he kissed the sensitive spot beneath her ear. She forced her body to remain still. "And I'll miss you."

MJ felt goosebumps prickling up the length of her back, and then his touch was gone. She watched his back as he practically ran across the campus toward the street, adjusting the back of his skinny jeans as he went. Confused and perplexed, MJ grabbed the book. She hadn't even remembered where she'd left off, but it couldn't have been that bad, could it? Peter _never_ kissed her on the cheek.

The words on the page begged to differ.

She shut the book, regretting asking him to open it.

MJ rested her head in her arms in despair, groaning and cursing at herself for being so overdramatic. Now she probably wasn't going to see her damn boyfriend for another two weeks. She'd be lucky if she got a text that night.

She wanted to burn the book like it had probably burned his eyes. She couldn't even do more than peck him months ago, and now she'd just had him read something that made everything go from level 2 to 200 _real_ quick.

Except _he_ was the one who had sent those texts. _He_ was the one who was taking things to the next level. He'd just grabbed her _throat_ in public.

MJ's fingers reached up to touch her throat. She could still feel the imprints of his fingers. It felt like they were burned into her skin. That, coupled with the texts . . .

Yeah, she was going to get rid of the damn book.

After she finished it, of course.

* * *

The morning blended into the afternoon, and soon, MJ's brain had consumed the entire sinful novel.

Mentally abdicating and deciding to buy the second book, she shoved it back into her bag. She took one last glance at the empty table, accepting that her Art club was probably not gonna happen, and then got up to head to her Wednesday Drawing class. She caught sight of her flier on one of the billboards as she went, unsurprised to see that none of the phone number slips had been taken. She supposed the other two fliers she'd put up looked exactly the same.

MJ figured it was probably best to just stick to her online friends and accept that if she was going to make friends in real life, she was going to have to someday suck it up and join a club she wasn't leading again. Even though being the team leader of the Decathlon Club in Senior year had been nothing short of amazing, she would have to make some sacrifices one day.

Today, she would mope.

Three hours of painting seemed to drag on. The colors she was trying to create with her oil paints weren't turning out the way she wanted them to. She'd taken a seat in the far back corner, and she couldn't stop glancing out the window every time she got frustrated with herself and her work.

She saw a cat go by, saw a couple birds landing on the English building, and even saw Eyebrows from the day before walking outside the window. For some reason, her mind kept conjuring up the image of Peter walking by, a silly daydream of a girl who wanted her boyfriend to burst into her classroom for no reason other than to look at her with those _smoldering_ eyes that she'd never seen before today. It made her feel embarrassed just to be herself. She jammed her walls back up, glancing around herself as though everyone could hear her thoughts.

 _I need to get a handle on myself,_ MJ thought. _No more jealousy, and no more reading books full of ropes and belts._

She finished up the day by painting a caricature of the Russian guy with huge, bushy eyebrows, and then spent the rest of her afternoon at her dorm, finally finishing her Volcanology essay. Then, she spent approximately two hours freaking out about going to dinner at her mother's, trying not to feel her skin crawling at the thought of Jerome trying to make a pass at her again.

She tried to think of ways to get out of it, but she didn't want to hurt Peter's feelings, especially with how important parental figures were to him. MJ knew that was the real reason why he wanted to go to dinner there. They'd had many heated discussions about this topic.

Maybe Jerome would be different if Peter was there? Peter was a nerd, but he was an extrovert. If anyone could keep the conversation flowing in any situation, it was him. And maybe Jerome would be so invested that he wouldn't remember to be a perverted jerk.

After she panicked about her family dinner, she checked her apps on her phone. Surprisingly, the new follower she'd gotten had gone through and liked all 97 of her tweets. It was a bit of a shock to see the Notifications icon so alive, but she wasn't dumb. The profile had no information, no profile pics, and no tweets. It was a ghost of some sort, but she had no idea who it could be. It wasn't like she had pockets full of friends, let alone enemies who would want to stalk her online. On the off chance it was a creeper, she went through her Twitter photos and deleted anything that showed her body from the neck down, then set her phone aside.

MJ played _Final Fantasy_ for the remainder of the night, ignoring yesterday's tweet and burning her tongue on a Hot Pocket again. She sat in a chair in her bra and underwear, the afternoon heat having followed the dorm into the evening, with her hair still piled on top of her head. Vowing to get a fan, she traded off between putting a frozen Hot Pocket on the back of her neck and holding it to her forehead and cheeks.

A bit after 11, MJ's phone began to buzz. She checked her texts, seeing a text from Bethany telling her she wasn't coming back to the dorm that night, and a text from Peter. Her eyebrows shot up. She definitely hadn't expected Peter to message her so soon. Not after the fiasco that was the book reading that morning.

 **Hey,** he said.

 **Hi, what's up?** she replied.

He read it immediately. **I can't believe you were reading that book.**

**I'm** **a woman. I can read whatever I want.**

He was already typing, but MJ felt butterflies milling about in her stomach. Butterflies she had no experience with. She slammed the phone down on the desk. The phone buzzed, but MJ just turned it over and began fighting monsters on her game in earnest. Her heart was beating clear up to her ears.

She didn't want to look at the phone. She didn't want to see what he was saying, didn't want to have the conversation she knew was going to happen if they kept talking about that iniquitous, depraved, absolutely _shameful_ piece of apple pie that was _Fifty Shades of Grey._ She loved Peter, but she felt like talking about that book with him was like someone handing her one dead fish and telling her to filet it with a spoon.

Because how the fuck.

 _Just look at it,_ she thought to herself. _Just look at the text in the notification bar. You won't have to reply yet._

Hesitating for a moment, MJ's hand darted out in the darkness and snatched up the phone. She clicked the Home button, reading the notifications that popped up on the lock screen.

**You can do whatever you want, too.**

What the Hell did that mean? Why did that make her skin prickle on the back of her neck? No. Just . . . No, Peter. MJ put the phone back down, but she couldn't focus on her game. She grabbed the device and crawled onto her bed, sitting cross-legged atop the comforter. Chewing on her lower lip, she tried to decide where the heck to take the conversation.

MJ was inexperienced in all things boys, that was a fact. She'd only had four boyfriends before Peter: three online Scene boys who were probably pedophiles using fake photos, and Flash in the seventh grade. Flash had never done anything except hold her hand and parade her around, and when they talked on the phone at night, it was mostly MJ prattling on while Flash listened in stony silence.

That lasted all of about two months, and then MJ's dad left.

After that, all men sucked ass, and MJ had ignored her crush on Peter for two years. Their first kiss was actually 3 kisses in one, and every time after that had been awkward. Oh, except kiss number 6. Kiss number 6 was different.

The memory of kiss number 6 flooded MJ's mind as she stared at her phone's lock screen, and her stomach flopped. Peter had asked her on a super- _not-_ a-date to a party Ned held to celebrate starting college. It was two months into their relationship, when everything was still new and MJ was too young to realize just how shy and insecure she actually was around him. The party was lame, as parties usually were, but it was packed.

Somehow, while they were standing against the wall, not talking because Peter was preoccupied with something and staring at the floor, someone shoved MJ from the right and she nearly fell.

Peter had jumped to action, twisting around to the front of her and catching her by the elbows. They'd stared at each other for a long second, the music pounding and the bluish glow from the weird lights Ned had flashing all over the room casting them both in a weird pallor, and then MJ had seen that _smoldering_ look in his eyes. It was the only other time she'd seen it.

His eyes were nearly black.

Peter had pulled her close, hands gripping her elbows almost too tightly, and given her a kiss that seared all the way down to her toes. It was just a peck, really—a _smooch_? Smooch number 2?—but he smelled like vanilla and some sort of spice. And his lips were like, petal-soft. _Really_ soft. She'd felt oddly breakable in his hold, like he could snap her arms off if he wanted to, but the contrast of his gentle mouth told her he'd never hurt her in a million years. It made her think of those stupid books where the girls saw stars behind their closed eyelids when they kissed the love interest, and it scared her.

It scared her.

His kiss made her feel so jittery that she left the party and took the subway home before he even caught her. He'd blown up her phone all night with apologies for being too _forward_ , and the next time they kissed was almost a month later.

But how much of that was her fault? How much of that was him backing away because she was so fucking weird that she couldn't even kiss him like a normal girlfriend?

She thought back to their text conversation the previous night, back to when they were both being bold. That was behind the safety of their screens, where neither of them had to show their faces.

Maybe that was the key.

Finally, MJ typed out her reply.

**And if I told you I wanted you, what would you say?**

Read.

MJ leaned back against the wall as she waited for his reply, struggling to stay calm. She was nineteen. She was a full-grown woman. Nothing about them texting like this was weird, bizarre, or wrong. There was no reason to get flustered or to be scared.

It was just words on a screen.

The phone buzzed.

**I'd say I'm coming over. You want me to?**

MJ panicked.

**No. No, don't come over. You can't.**

**Why not?**

**Bethany is here.**

He read the message and it took him a second to reply.

**You sure?**

**Yeah, she's here sleeping. You can't come over.**

**Ah. Then what are you doing?**

MJ felt her stomach drop. What if he was outside on a building, or something? What if he could hear that there was only one heartbeat in her room? He was the spider dude. He had spider dude ears.

She glanced to the right, towards her window.

What if he was on the building across the way, listening and watching? Something twisted lazily in her gut, pulsing low and heavy. This was like a movie. And if it _were_ a movie, then she could do something wild that the real MJ would never do.

She'd already told him not to come over.

What was the harm in pushing the boundaries some more?

MJ sank down beneath her comforter, the sounds of the city through the window a strange comfort as she mustered up the courage to follow through on what she wanted to do. There was no guarantee that he was out there, but the thought of it was enough to take every nerve ending in her body and set it aflame. The flames licked up and down her body, pulling a gasp out of her lips as she sank down even further, until the coverlet was over her head.

In the hot darkness with her phone, she typed out a text.

**I'm thinking about you being here.**

He replied almost instantaneously.

**Oh, yeah?**

**Mhm,** she replied. **What would you do if you were here?**

The three dots seemed to flash for too long.

MJ, who had only ever done this with herself twice before in her life, allowed her hand to roam her own body. Her heart slammed against the cage of her chest as she trailed her fingers gently along her collarbone and down to her breast. She closed her eyes, cupping it over the fabric of her tank top and sucking in a soft breath. Her feet slid against the cotton sheets—they felt as smooth as satin.

The phone went off.

**I would kiss you all over.**

She squeezed her breast, typing her reply with one thumb. **Tell me where.**

His replies came in a series of separate texts. Separate, short messages that seemed to get bolder and less controlled.

**Your lips.**

**Then your jaw.**

**I'd kiss your neck until you cried.**

**I'd taste the skin on your chest.**

**Down the front of your body. And then I'd kiss you between your legs until you begged me to stop.**

Man, did he have a good imagination.

It was hot underneath the blanket—too hot, to be honest—but there was something about the lack of air flow that was heady in its intensity. MJ viewed the messages through hazy, half-obstructed vision as her eyelids fluttered. Her fingers twisted the peak of one breast and she gasped again. It felt nice.

It felt even nicer imagining Peter being the one to do it.

Her hand slid down the front of her body, the same way she hoped his lips would one day, and slipped into the front of her panties. She felt an amount of arousal waiting there that she hadn't expected—as if she knew what to expect. The last time she'd done this was lost to her memory, to a version of herself she felt like she couldn't remember. She almost didn't know what to do anymore.

She'd figure it out.

MJ's fingers brushed upward, against the apex of her core. The answering burst of stars behind her closed eyelids signified her that _that_ was it—that was the right spot. She bit her lip to stifle the sound that tried to escape her lips when she did it again and again. Fast, gentle circles that had her hips jolting and her chest spasming. Her other hand loosened its hold on her phone.

Her phone began to vibrate. And vibrate. And vibrate.

Peter was calling her.

What was she supposed to do? She couldn't just _answer_ it while she was _touching herself_. That would be _beyond_ embarrassing. It would be humiliating. She was sweating and breathing heavily from the lack of air. Every breath she took felt like it was bordering on a moan. She couldn't trust herself not to make mortifying noises.

But they'd already pushed so many boundaries.

What was one more?

She answered.

"Hi," she whispered, her voice small and unsure in her throat.

"Hey," he said in a soft voice. "What are you—I mean, I miss—Just—Jesus Christ. I'm so awkward."

She laughed, breathless even as she stilled her hand. It was difficult hearing his voice like this. Even though he was being his usual dorky self, there was an edge to his voice. Something rougher. More unrestrained than usual. It was like something he always tried to hold back was starting to creep out into his psyche. Something dark.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm awkward, too."

"Yeah? Well, not as much as me. Especially since I know you're touching yourself right now."

Well, shit.

MJ started to panic again, preparing to sit up and withdraw her hand from her underwear. This was _mortifying_. This was too far. What was she _thinking_? She was a pervert. She was an absolute freak _pervert_ who didn't—

"No, don't stop!" he said loudly, his voice jarring through the speaker. When he spoke again, he softened his tone until only the edge remained. "Just—don't stop. Keep going."

MJ froze, feeling the sweat prickling all over her body.

How did he know she was about to stop?

"Keep going," he repeated, whispering the words. "I want to listen."

Trembling, she slid down even further, until her head was on the mattress and not the pillow. She hesitated. Her courage was leaving her, like the ebbing of the tide.

"MJ," Peter said softly, "it's okay. You don't have to if you don't want to."

"No. N-No. I want to." Taking a deep breath, she clutched the phone tighter to her ear while her hand resumed its circular movements. She let out a harsh pant and closed her eyes, feeling the bliss washing over her body once again, urged onward by the knowledge that he was listening and aware.. "I want to. I w-want . . ."

"What do you want?"

His voice was rougher than before—harsh. As breathless as hers.

She slipped her fingers through her wetness and brought it back upward, spreading her thighs wider. It felt like something was expanding in her chest, getting larger and larger until she couldn't bear it.

A small whimper behind her closed lips.

"What do you want, MJ? Tell me."

"Talk," she breathed, her hips rocking to meet the circles of her fingers. "Say things to me."

"What sort of things?"

"Anything," and it came out as a groan as her womb clenched. "God— _anything_."

He was silent for a long second, like he was lost deep in thought. Like he either didn't know what to say, or knew what he wanted to say and was too scared to say it.

But MJ was impatient. Her mind was starting to careen into celestial spaces. Wherever it was headed, she didn't think it could get there without hearing him tell her where to go.

"Peter, come on," she said, and it came out as a whine. She hadn't meant it to, but her body was on fire. Her fingers kept slipping dangerously close to her entrance and back up again. There was a desperation inside of her. "Please."

". . . Are you wet?"

She nearly rolled her eyes. "Obviously."

"Right, yeah. That's—I'm so stupid."

"Stop freaking out," she breathed, trying to focus. "I just want to—"

"Come?"

A lightning bolt of pleasure rocketed through her body and she cried out. She dropped the phone in her haste to slap her hand over her mouth and stifle it. What the Hell? Why was he saying it so casually like that?

"MJ? MJ, are you all right?!"

MJ pressed the speaker button on her phone screen. "I'm fine. I'm okay. Just—you caught me off guard."

"What? When I say the word 'come'?"

" _Yes_. Stop. God." Her hand moved slower.

"Why? You just told me to—"

" _I know_. I know. I just . . . It's embarrassing."

Peter paused and when he spoke again, that rough edge was back.

"What if I worded it differently?"

"Worded it how?"

"What if I told you I wanted you to come for me?"

MJ was silent. Dead silent.

Now that . . . _That_ was different.

Her hand began to move again, the pace of her breathing quickening.

"Okay," she whispered.

"Yeah?"

 _God_ —when he said the word 'yeah,' it did something to her. She didn't know what it was. It just—

She hit a spot. She wasn't sure which spot it was. It was an even better spot than before. It made her entire body go rigid, hips rocking against her own touch in chase of something cosmic. MJ threw her head back, her back arching up off of the mattress as her fingers slipped inside her own body.

Her hips rocked harder, firmer, stomach twisting into a tight knot.

She moaned.

"Fuck," Peter groaned. "Just like that. Come on—do it just like that."

Wait.

Since the phone was on her bed, she took her other hand and moved it beneath her panties, too. Angling the hand that was inside her core, she used the forefingers of her other hand to massage circles that quickly became back and forth motions. Whatever nerves and embarrassment she'd been feeling earlier had dissipated.

Now, all that remained was Peter and the wicked things his voice did to her body.

"What are you doing?" he asked, sounding almost hoarse. "Are you fucking yourself with your fingers?"

MJ nodded, forgetting that she was on the phone with him and not in person. It felt like an insurmountable mountain, trying to get the words to come out correctly.

"I—I'm—Yes." She gasped. Her toes curled down into the mattress, anchoring to it as she did exactly what she was trying to tell him she was doing. "Mhm. I'm—I'm— _God._ "

"If I were there, would you come all over my fingers?"

Wait, that was—

That sounded so _familiar_.

MJ felt it hurtling towards her—her undoing. She was going to fall apart in seconds.

"Are you almost—like, are you gonna . . . ?" He didn't sound completely unsure. Just curious. "Are you—"

" _Yes_." The word burst forth from her chest with another moan. Her fingers moved faster as she dangled off the precipice of something new and shattering. It felt like every time she got closer to it, it danced just out of reach. The heat beneath the blanket was unbearable. The desperation increased tenfold. "Please. Just— _please_."

"Holy shit," he exhaled into the mouthpiece. "You can do it. You can _fucking_ do it. You're almost there, aren't you?"

MJ's eyes rolled up into her head. She was right there. Right on the edge.

She just needed . . .

"Jesus Christ," he said under his breath. "Fuck. You're so good at—"

"That."

"What?"

"Good. Call me good. Tell me I'm—"

"You're good, MJ. You're so good."

Her back arched even higher. She was so close. So, so close. Her fingers ached from how fast they were moving. She couldn't stop herself from whimpering _please, please_ under her breath over and over again. There was never a time in her life where she'd felt more desperate.

"Gonna come for me now, baby?" Peter said. His voice tripped over the term of endearment, like he was certain she was gonna hate it.

"Yes," she whined. She really wasn't sure she liked being called baby. It felt vaguely patriarchal. "Yes, yes, yes, ye—"

Her breathing stuttered as she inhaled deeply. She could feel it—she was gonna come.

"Good . . . Girl? Is that okay? Good girl?"

" _Oh,_ my—" MJ groaned, deep within her chest. "Yes. Yep. That's— _please_ say that again."

"Good girl." He threaded strength through his voice and hammered the nail. "Be a good girl and come for me."

There.

MJ came with a violent shudder, the orgasm tearing through her body like a tidal wave and dragging her up to the heights of the skies. She bit her lower lip to stop herself from moaning too loudly into the confined space of her blanket. Her fingers slowed their pace even as she felt her own body clenching around them, yearning to keep them inside.

As the ripples washed over her body, rendering her limp and boneless while she convulsed against the bed, she realized why his words sounded so familiar. They were almost the same things that Bethany's hook-up had said to her the other day—the things MJ had heard before she put on her headset.

But if they were exactly the same . . .

That meant Peter _was_ outside. He was somewhere close enough to hear.

"Whoa," Peter said.

"Yeah," MJ said, catching her breath as she relaxed into the bed. She felt somewhat strung out—like she had too much energy buzzing along her veins now. "Whoa."

"Are you . . . Was that—I mean, was that _okay_?" Peter sounded worried. "Are you all right?"

"I'm good," MJ said, pulling the blanket down and breathing in air that felt cooler than the hot, stale air underneath the blanket. She sat up, body covered in sweat, and picked up her phone. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. More than fine. I just . . ." He laughed. "Miss you even more now."

MJ looked out the window. Where was he? On the roof? On the side of the building? In the alley?

"Well, I should go to bed," she said, ducking her head down. This had been a huge step for them and now she wanted to think. She felt overwhelmed. "I hope you have a good night, Peter."

"I hope you do, too. Good night, MJ."

When MJ hung up, she didn't know why, but she burst out into tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my writing, you can find more at my website.
> 
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	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So after a small discussion with a lovely fellow author, this story now has a trigger warning for upcoming content.
> 
> The trigger warning is for past childhood sexual abuse. It is not described nor do we see a memory. However, it will be talked about in-depth in regards to feelings and if you look back at Chapters 1-3, you can really see the foundation is laid for this.
> 
> If this is a trigger for you, I'd advise you not to read the story. But I am an experienced trauma recovery author and my goal is always healing. For those of you who stay, I hope this story provides healing for you.
> 
> Also, I have never played FF Online. I am old—I have only played console Final Fantasies. So when I described MJ's boss battle, I literally thought of FFX and Anima xD

** **

** Chapter Four **

"Peter, are you sure you're okay?"

Peter nodded, adjusting the hem of his mask so that it covered his neck. He was outside the door that years ago, Tony had spoken to him outside of, asking him to join the Avengers.

All he could think about was what MJ sounded like when she came.

He tried not to think about the Snap, tried not to remember everything, but it felt hard when Pepper was standing where Tony once stood. He closed his eyes for a moment, allowing himself to feel that deep darkness that he constantly stuffed up with everything that made him happy. When he opened his eyes, he looked down at Mrs. Stark.

"I'm okay, Mrs. Stark," he said. "And I'm ready."

"Okay," she said. "Because we can cancel. We don't have to hold this conference here at the compound. We can postpone it and hold it at Stark Industries."

"No, it's . . ." He paused, entertaining the idea for a moment. Then, he banished it. Taking the reins and following what Tony asked him to do was part of the battle. Spider-Man never ran from battle. "It's fine. We can—we _should_ do it here."

"All right," she said, and her smile reached her eyes. "So just remember—you're introducing yourself as the face and head of the Sakovia Association and Trust, and—"

"And as my first action, I plan to sign off on a new housing development specifically for Sakovians who sign up for the program," Peter finished. He put his hands on his hips. "Then I gotta look all Spider-Manlike, answer whatever questions I can, and that's . . . That's it, right?"

Pepper laughed. "Yes, Peter, that's right. I'll be right beside you."

"I'll tag you in if I need to."

Peter and Pepper walked out to a room full of flashing camera lights and a cacophony of noise that nearly overwhelmed his enhanced eardrums. The eye screens on his mask narrowed to accommodate the lights, and Peter briefly heard Karen's voice in his ears, pointing out his elevated pulse. He took deep breaths, trying to push past his anxiety. He wasn't a kid anymore. He was nineteen. He was a whole-ass man, and this wasn't a small Spider-Man conference. This was important to Tony, and it was important to the Sakovians.

He couldn't fuck this up.

Peter wrestled his way through the press conference, doing more things wrong than he did right. But Pepper's smile never wavered and neither did her confidence. Peter was glad that the mask hid his permanent grimace, and double glad that his suit had such breathable fabric. Either the camera lights were as hot as the sun or Peter was nervous because he was _sweating._

 _This is bad, this is so bad, OhmygodthisisREALLYbad,_ Peter thought, screaming at himself in his head. He wanted to turn and run, but he didn't know which would be worse: running behind the scenes and looking like an immature coward or running behind the scenes and finding Happy with his phone and saying Nick Fury was calling again.

Peter never wanted to hear from that man again— _that_ was a fact everyone could take to the bank.

Still, he answered all the questions, provided the photos they needed, and basked in the expressions of excitement and praise the reporters gave for the housing development news. Then, it was over.

"I'm so glad that's over," he breathed in relief after ripping his mask off inside the compound.

"You did great, Peter," Pepper said, glancing down at her phone. "Now, I have one person I want you to meet, and then you can head home or to the lab, or wherever you planned on going."

Peter followed Pepper outside to the front of the building. The two of them climbed into a black car, Pepper programming the self-driving vehicle to take them to Stark Industries, and then they were on the road. Peter pulled his mask off and exhaled, relieved the first press conference was out of the way.

"So . . ." he said as the car zoomed down the freeway back to the city. "How's Morgan? I haven't been to the cabin in . . . In a while."

"Since the funeral," Pepper supplied, folding her hands in her lap. Her smile was kind. "Morgan's great. She likes playing with her toys in Tony's office."

Peter nodded, offering her a small smile, but inside, his heart wrenched. Something about the mental image of Morgan playing on the floor of an eternally-empty office surrounded by memories of the guy Peter almost wanted to call Dad was devastating. Or maybe he just wasn't over it yet. Either way, he didn't realize he was tearing up until his vision began to blur. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, scrubbing his face with his hands.

"Ah, shit," he said. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Stark. This is so embarrassing."

"Peter," Pepper said softly, her voice laden with sympathy. She reached across the seat and rubbed his upper back. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about. There's no timeline on grief."

Peter hung his head for a moment, and then he ran his fingers through his tousled brown hair. "Tony was . . . He was just great. He was the only person who . . . Who like, _believed_ in me. Anyone else would have just thought I was too young, too . . . Just . . ."

He trailed off, finding that the more he spoke, the more his throat tightened. He felt foolish. He'd spent months crying, and then more months bottling the rest of it up. Now, two years after his death, he wanted to break down and sob in front of Tony's wife.

"Age doesn't mean anything," Pepper said. Then, she laughed through the tears that were glittering in her own eyes. "When Tony was a little younger than you, do you know what he did? He hacked into the Pentagon."

"He did _what_?" Peter smiled, passing the back of his hand across his eyes to try and clear them.

"Yep," she said. "On a _dare_."

"Wow," Peter said, looking down at the car floor between his feet again. He fidgeted with his fingernails, putting all of his focus on trying to hold back the emotions. "That's . . . Wow. Maybe that's why he was so disappointed in me that day . . . That day that I got into the situation on the ferry. He told me he wanted me to be better than him. But I . . . Sometimes, I feel like I don't _want_ to be better than him. I'd rather have him b-back." His voice cracked, his eyes beginning to water once more.

"Tony saw something in you, Peter," Pepper said, her hand warm against his back. It seeped in through the fabric of his suit and wrapped itself around his heart. "He loved Morgan, and he loved you. He believed in you, and he loved you."

Peter's eyes overflowed, a tear rolling down his cheek. He glanced at Pepper, sniffling. "Yeah?"

"He gave up his life for you, for all of us, but he _loved_ you. He'd want you to know that."

The floodgates creaked and then burst open, and then Peter felt the sobs wrack his body. He buried his face in his hands and wept. He couldn't keep stuffing it down, holding it back, bottling it up. It was too much, too overwhelming. To say he wasn't handling his grief well would be an understatement.

And as Pepper wrapped her arms around his hunched shoulders and held him the way a mother would, it reminded him of how much Tony mattered to him, and he cried harder. The tears cascaded down his cheeks, dripping from between his fingers.

Peter didn't want to run a stupid charity. He just wanted Tony back.

By the time they arrived at Stark Industries, Peter had cried all the tears he had in his body for the day, and he'd stuffed the sadness back inside. After Peter put his mask back on, Pepper squeezed his hand and followed him out of the car. She offered him one last sympathetic, caring smile, and then they headed inside to handle business.

"Now, the man I'm wanting you to meet is someone who's had up-close, personal experiences with what happened in Sakovia." Pepper said in the elevator. "He's your age and he's been a major part of the charity for a few years now."

"Is he part of the team?" Peter asked. He still felt a bit like a fish out of water, but he knew Pepper wouldn't unload things on him too quickly. As long as he went with the flow, Peter was sure everything would be okay. Having more team members was best.

"Yes," Pepper answered. "He's the one who proposed the housing developments, as well as the food delivery programs. He's done some other things but let me just let him tell you."

The elevator dinged and they got off on their designated floor. When they walked towards wherever it was that they were going, Peter kept his eyes trained on the floor. He knew the walls were covered in reminders of Tony. He didn't think he could look at them, not while his heart felt so raw and ripped open.

At least, not today.

Eventually, they entered an office, where a boy stood waiting.

"Spider-Man, this is Andrei Romanov," Pepper said, one hand on Peter's back and the other on the boy's. "Andrei, meet Spider-Man."

"What's up, man?" Peter said, shaking hands with him. His grip was firm. "I'm Spider-Man."

"It's wonderful to meet you," Andrei's heavily-accented voice gushed out. He was shorter than Peter, so he grinned up at him, his heavy brows disappearing into his messy, glossy black hair. His teeth were a blinding white, near-perfect. "I've followed your entire career with the Avengers. What you do is amazing."

"For real?" Peter straightened his spine and drew his shoulders back. "Wow, really? Uh . . . Well, thanks. Thank you. That's awesome."

"Oh yes," Andrei said. "I think you were the perfect choice to lead the Sakovia Association."

"It's a really great . . . Charity," Peter said, rubbing the back of his neck outside of the suit. For the first time in a long time, Peter actually felt _intimidated_ by this guy. Something about his enthusiasm for the charity while being the same age as Peter made Peter almost feel like he was letting Tony down by feeling so nervous to run the organization. "Mrs. Stark said you've done a lot for the . . . For it?"

"I told him about the housing and food programs," Pepper explained, clasping her hands in front of her. "Tell him all about the rest of it."

Andrei smiled, but waved a dismissive hand. "It's nothing, really. I just helped arrange the successful relocation of hundreds of Sakovians here to New York. They're living in houses we built outside the city."

"Wow," Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Rent free and everything?"

"No rent, citizenship approved, and grants set up in all of their names," Andrei said, his smile appearing prideful. "We're working on building more housing because there's still displaced Sakovians in Russia who want to come to America."

"And you? How did you come here? Were you born here?"

"My family were displaced by the incident," Andrei explained. "My father was killed, but my mother and sisters and I made it onto the ship. We came to America because of the work Mr. Stark was doing with the Sakovia Association. I just knew I had to join so I could help as much as I could."

"That's amazing," Peter said.

"He really is," Mrs. Stark said, patting Andrei on the shoulder. "He's also great with computers, like Tony was. He designed the entire placement catalogue."

Peter's eyebrows raised beneath his mask. " _Really_? What's it like?"

"I can show you?" Andrei offered, gesturing to the door.

"Yeah, that would be great. Mrs. Stark?"

"I actually have a meeting," Pepper said. "But feel free to learn everything you can from him, Spider-Man. Also, before I go, there's a fundraiser in about two weeks to prepare for, and then one major project to sign off on before that. So I'll call you when we need you to come back in."

Peter felt guilty at how relieved he felt, but he merely flashed her a thumbs-up and then followed Andrei out to the elevator. Once inside, his curiosity got the better of him.

"So by 'good with computers', what did she mean?" Peter asked.

Andrei beamed. "Well . . . Don't tell anyone I told you this, but . . . One night, I was stuck late doing some paperwork, so I took a break and snuck into Mr. Stark's lab. I cracked the code on his most recent suit in two hours."

Wait . . . What?

Peter fought back the sudden urge to punch him, the hairs on his body standing at attention.

"Dude, what?" he said. "That's . . . That's not cool. You shouldn't mess with his stuff, you know?"

"Oh, it's totally okay," Andrei said, not seeming to sense that Peter was upset. "Most of the guys around here mess around in the lab during their off time. Everyone's been trying to figure out what code he uses to program his suits, and I'm the one that did it. I figured it out."

"His code?"

"It's like . . . The base code he uses to connect Edith to everything."

Peter didn't like that.

"I know you're not—not the only one in there, but please . . . Can you try to keep people out of there? Tony wouldn't want anyone to know that information, and since he's not here to make that decision, let's try and keep the lab empty, all right?"

Andrei looked into Peter's eye screens, his expression was unreadable. He nodded slowly, and then the elevator dinged to let them off. They walked in an almost awkward, tense silence towards a computer lab. There were a lot of people in the room but a few empty computers.

As Andrei took a seat and began to show him the catalogue he'd created, Peter found his mind wandering.

Did that many people really disrespect Tony that much? First, it was Quentin Beck and whoever worked for him. Now, it was the people who still worked for Tony. Peter had a difficult enough time stepping into the Avengers compound—how could they feel comfortable messing with Tony's stuff and trying to hack into his suits?

He eyed Andrei, who was talking quite animatedly, and wondered if it was just disrespect, or something more. And even if Andrei was just a disrespectful asshole, were any of the other Stark Industries employees more dangerous than they looked?

He glanced over his shoulder at the lab full of people. Most of them were a little older than Peter, likely in their twenties, and they didn't have any sort of distinct look to them. None of them seemed surprised or taken by the fact that Spider-Man was just _sitting_ in their computer lab. They just tapped away at their keyboards, joking occasionally with each other. It wasn't until Andrei was snapping his fingers next to Peter's ear that he realized he'd completely tuned him out.

"What?" Peter whirled his head back to face the computer screen Andrei sat in front of. "Sorry, dude, I was totally zoning. What am I looking at?"

Andrei didn't seem perturbed. He gestured to the screen.

"This program comprises a comprehensive list of everyone involved in the Sakovia incident. There's sections for the people who were killed, the people who were displaced, and the people who are still unaccounted for. It tells us everything we need to know about them, including their medical histories and where the ones who were displaced are located now. Some are in New York, but we have one housing development in New Jersey."

"And where is _your_ family?"

"The Jersey development," Andrei said, and then contrary to Peter's assumption that he'd pull up information on his family, he closed down the computer entirely. He smiled at Peter. "You won't need to use this program at all. This is for the team and the employees to use."

"Right," Peter said, nodding. "My job is to be the face, sign the papers, dot the i's and cross the t's."

"And fight crime in Queens," Andrei said with a small chuckle.

"Yeah," Peter said. "And fight crime in Queens. That is . . . That is how I started out. You really have been following my career, haven't you?"

"Exactly." Andrei grinned as he pushed his chair back from the table. "How was the press conference?"

"It went good," Peter told him, following him as they got to their feet and headed back to the elevator. "I was nervous, but that's because I have anxiety like you would _not_ believe. But they're informed about the newest development in New York. When does that like, start? Like, when do they start building?"

"In a month or two," Andrei said as they stood by the elevator. "The fundraiser Mrs. Stark mentioned is specifically geared towards raising funds for that venture."

"Well, I'd better get going," Peter said, seeing that his watch said it was nearing the late afternoon. He had some more work to do back at the compound, and if he was going to make it back to the city by 11, he needed to leave now.

"Yeah, me, too," he said. "I've got to get to class."

"Class?" Peter held the elevator open for a moment so he could step in after him. "Do you go to school?"

"Yeah, I go to Empire State."

He opened his mouth, and somehow, Peter knew he was about to ask Spider-Man if he went there, too. Peter did, but as far as everyone in the world needed to know, Spider-Man's only job was fighting crime. In Queens.

"Do you—"

"Well, I hope you have a good afternoon." Peter turned to go.

"Wait."

Peter glanced back.

"Any chance I can know the man behind the mask? Since we're gonna be working together." Andrei smiled. "It's only fair."

"Ahh." Peter rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the flexible fabric of the suit against his skin. "No can do, buddy. Part of the job."

"Yeah, makes sense. Anonymity is key, huh?"

"Yep. Anyway—"

"Yeah, you have a good day."

* * *

Peter spent the afternoon tinkering with his class project, and then he watched Hawkeye in the shooting range for a few minutes.

Hawkeye didn't say anything to him, even though Peter was full of lame jokes, and ultimately, he ended up having to leave. Then, at 11 on dot, he lowered himself onto the edge of the roof across from MJ's.

He'd been thinking about what they'd done on the phone for hours. The entire day. All of the night before. He hadn't been able to sleep, finding that there was something that felt wrong about bringing himself off to the thought of her without her consent. It felt like it crossed lines.

He nearly shit his pants when he saw that MJ was curled up in her computer chair wearing nothing but an oversized tee shirt that fell off of one shoulder. She looked hot—pun _not_ intended—and she was fully absorbed. Her roommate wasn't home, so she was all by herself. He could hear the tapping of the keyboard and the clicking of the mouse, and the sounds of a girl's voice through the headset MJ wore. When he focused, he could even hear the beating of MJ's heart and for some reason, it made him blush.

Peter shook his head wildly to rid himself of the memories of MJ's moaning through the phone. God, how he wished he could get the chance to talk to her like that in person. MJ would never allow it, and he would never try it. Unless, of course, she asked for it. Or . . . Begged . . .

His mind was full of a lot of shades of grey. Like, a lot of really fucked up shades.

"Peter, your heart rate—"

"Karen," Peter interrupted, holding his hands out in front of him as though he were throttling someone's throat to kill them in a fit of rage. "Karen, stop. Karen . . . No."

"Very well, Peter."

Peter ripped his mask off, the warm Summer night kissing his blushing cheeks. He passed his hands across his face, calming himself as he tried to ease his storm.

MJ was a grandma. She was a grandma who was way too old for him and wore diapers. She was a grandma with a really nice chest . . . A grandma with beautiful curls and youthful . . . Eyes . . .

"Peter . . . Peter, no," he grumbled to himself, throttling his own neck.

Maybe he should call her.

He pulled out his phone and sent her a text, watching carefully as she replied. He read it, heart racing. He wanted to text her the truth, tell her that he wanted to climb into bed with her and cry himself to sleep with the only person who he felt safest with, but he couldn't. He was shy and, so he sent something else.

Peter picked up his phone and dialed. It rang and rang and rang.

She took her headset off, set it on the desk beside her keyboard, and answered her cell phone.

"Why are you calling?"

"Because," Peter said. "I missed you. Is it a crime?"

"Yes," MJ replied, and she sounded distracted. From his vantage point, Peter could see that she was deep in the midst of a battle on her game. "I'm arresting you."

"I can literally break handcuffs apart with my fingers."

"Ooh, can you break my arm, too?" It wasn't intended to be an innuendo—just another distracted set of words—but Peter's mind was still heavy with the memories of their phone experience the night before.

"Yeah," he said. "Wanna see what I can do with your neck?"

Sirens. Red alarm.

What the fuck had he just said?

It was too much. Too far. Just like last night, he was being stupid and saying whatever dumb shit came to mind. He wasn't thinking about her comfort, or what she might be ready for. They hadn't even made out before and there he was, telling her to—

"Okay."

And a what?

Peter sat up on the edge of the roof, unsure of what to say. He wasn't certain that there were any words lurking about the recesses of his mind. His head was empty, no thoughts. Nothing from which to draw analyses from.

"You want me to . . . ? But I . . . Are you . . ." He breathed a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck with the hand that held his mask, nails scratching the base of his scalp through his hair. "I'm sorry."

"No, you wanna be about it, then be about it." She cursed as something hit her character on the screen.

Peter said nothing for a moment, his mind racing. He couldn't tell if she was serious. Before their phone conversation yesterday, he would have been sure she was making an innuendo in jest. But now that they'd done what they did over the phone—rather, _she'd_ done what she'd done—he wasn't so sure.

Where once their relationship had felt as calm as still waters, it now felt like a raging river hurtling toward a waterfall that fell into the sky.

"Fine," he said, rising to the hint of challenge in her tone. "All right. Is your window unlocked?"

"Huh?" She clicked the mouse a few times in rapid succession—she was battling a boss. "Yeah, but why would you—"

Peter hung up the phone and put his mask back on.

 _Pssh_.

He soared downward through the air, swinging toward the wall beneath her window. Down below, no one thought to look up. Hidden in plain sight, he crawled up to her windowsill and pushed the glass upward. He closed the window behind him with his toes and landed on the carpet.

MJ's head swiveled to look at him in the darkness, the only illumination coming from her computer screen. There was a shocked look on her face for a moment before a sound on the computer pulled her attention back to her battle.

"I'm telling you right now that I know you been sitting out there, watching me," she said with a half-smile. "Creeper."

Peter felt embarrassment flooding his body as he reached up to pull his mask off again. He ran his fingers backward through his messy hair. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah, and I know that you were out there yesterday."

Peter mustered up all of the courage he had inside his body to school his facial expression into one of indifference. "Oh, _yeah_?"

"Yup." Her gaze darted all over the screen, her face the picture of calm. But inside, Peter could hear that her heart was racing. "How many other times have you been out there, stalking me?"

Peter dropped his mask onto the dresser and his backpack onto the floor of the small dorm. He didn't know how to answer her. She didn't seem angry but maybe that was because she didn't think he'd actually been stalking her like a maniac.

He could hold up the lie or tell her the truth and somehow, he felt like he owed her at least that.

Peter exhaled a sigh and sunk onto the edge of her bed. He hung his head.

"A while."

Her gaze darted over to him, giving him a onceover before returning to her game. "Okay, and how long is a while?"

This was so creepy and weird.

Why hadn't he just called her back? Why hadn't he just taken her out on dates or come to see her? He'd been putting his job as Spider-Man ahead of her and that wasn't okay. It wasn't like he had to choose.

There was room in his life for both.

"A while, okay? Just . . ." He rested one elbow on his thigh and dropped his forehead into his hand. "And I wasn't just _watching_ you. I was watching _over_ you."

"Without my permission?"

Peter stared at her, silent in his panic. Was she actually angry? Was she just one of those girls who remained calm and sat on a guy's lap while asking him all about how he cheated on her?

She was more terrifying than the Soul World.

"Well—I mean . . ." His voice cracked. "Yeah?"

MJ pressed her lips together and huffed through her nose, faintly amused. "I should be pissed at you for it, but I'm not."

"Really?" He sat up straight. "You're not?"

She shook her head. "It's kinda endearing actually. It means you're obsessed with me."

Peter shot her a look, but she was grinning.

His thoughts whirled around and around for a moment, his blood still raging, and then he took a deep, calming breath.

He wasn't here to argue. In fact, the last thing he felt towards her was anger. He would much rather spend his time showing her all the attention he'd been withholding from her. He wanted to make up for all the mistakes he'd made, how he'd ignored her and refused to call her back.

There was no excuse for it.

But after yesterday—after hearing what she sounded like when she wasn't worried about being so sarcastic and wary all the time—he wanted to give her anything she wanted.

"Anyway, why are you here?" MJ pressed the keys on the keyboard frantically, gaze honed-in on her boss battle. "Why disrupt your nightly stalking activities just to come see me?"

Was that a joke?

Was she just going to pretend like yesterday hadn't happened?

"I had a hard day," he said. "I just wanted to see you."

"Lie."

"Truth."

"Mm-hm." She pursed her lips. It sounded like she didn't believe him.

Peter frowned.

This was his fault. It was his fault for treating her poorly. Because that's what he'd done—he'd treated her like shit, and now she was insecure in their relationship. And that made sense because why else would she be so disinclined to believe what he was saying?

He was going to have to work harder. He was going to have to work harder and show her how he felt. To prove to her that she was just as important to him as she always had been.

More than anything, he needed to show her how much yesterday meant to him. The amount of trust it must have taken just to give up that part of herself was more than what he felt he deserved. Perhaps it was just his self-deprecating nature, but he knew how much courage it must have taken for her to let him listen.

And he knew he needed to cherish it.

He stood up.

"Do you want me to leave?"

"I ain't said all that," she muttered underneath her breath, not looking at him.

Peter walked toward her, coming to the back of her computer chair. On-screen, he could see she'd been talking to Betty earlier on her chat box. Currently, they were both working together to defeat a boss that looked pretty heavy-duty with its HP and MP. It seemed like an important battle.

He lifted his hands and took a deep breath.

Now was not the time to be childish. After what he'd listened to her do, it wasn't far beyond the realm of possibility that he could do this.

He placed his hands—still covered by the material of his suit—on her shoulders and squeezed.

"It cool if I sleep over?" he asked, his voice a bit throaty and low. It wasn't intentional, but there was something about the way her shoulders felt fragile beneath his hands. MJ was anything but breakable and she had a diamond-hard personality forged in flame, but he was strong. He had powers.

Peter could hurt her— _really_ hurt her—if he tried.

If he wanted to.

She scowled. "My roommate might be back."

"So I should go?"

"I ain't said all that neither." She enunciated her words. On the screen, her character summoned an aeon and performed an overdrive that took out a quarter of the boss' remaining HP. "Don't put words in my mouth, loser."

"Is this okay?"

"What, touching me?" She shrugged. "It's cool."

"Cool."

"Good."

"Awesome."

"All right."

Peter's hands slid down her outer arms, every smooth centimeter of her tawny skin feeling like forbidden silk. He leaned down, greedy eyes attached to the slope of her neck. When he pressed his lips to her pulse and kissed her there, he wasn't thinking clearly.

He wasn't thinking anything at all.

"Do you not want me to be here?" he murmured.

"What? Of course I want you to be h-here." Her voice caught in her throat when he placed another, heavier kiss to the same spot. She continued clicking her mouse, focused on the boss. "I just would have preferred you gave me a chance to text Bethany."

"Is she coming back tonight?"

He brushed her curls to the right with his hand, lips moving up the left side of her throat. She was covered in a light sheen of sweat from the temperature of the early Summer night, but he didn't care.

She still tasted sweet.

"I d-don't— _ah_ —think so." MJ took a deep breath. Her head fell back, the base of her skull landing on his shoulder as the tip of his tongue traced a vein. Her breath stuttered in her chest, her fingers freezing over her keyboard and mouse. "W-What are you doing? Why—Why are—"

She pulled in her breath when he sucked the lobe of her ear into his mouth, teeth grazing her flesh. His head was as empty as the sky, devoid of anything other than all the things he'd wanted to do to her for so long, and all the things he'd just dreamed up yesterday. He didn't know why he wanted to kiss her ear.

He just knew he wanted to kiss her everywhere.

Peter continued to kiss her neck, painting lines of fire along her throat and jaw. She seemed to have a difficult time keeping her breath steady—it escaped the cavern of her body in short, shallow puffs. Her fingers curled around the mouse and relaxed on the keyboard, the boss battle remaining forgotten.

She turned her face, her eyes closed and brows pulled together as though she couldn't decide between feeling confused or impassioned. There was something about the fact that she seemed to be existing somewhere along the line of wanting that was so pretty that it stole his breath away.

The swell of her full lips, the dusting of her short lashes across her skin, the wideness of her nose . . . It all existed together to form someone that he loved. Someone so beautiful that he felt stupid for not thinking she was worth more than two weeks of texts and phone calls only.

Here she was, and she was his.

So he kissed her.

The moment their lips met, his hands coming up to cup her face, she gasped. It may have been from surprise rather than loss of breath, but Peter didn't care. He hadn't kissed her in so long that it felt like he'd never kissed her before. Her lips were as soft as they looked and when his tongue slipped into her mouth, hers was like velvet against his own.

The way it felt was indescribable.

Something reared up inside of him, coming from the depths of his psyche and urging him to kiss her harder. Deeper. More sensually. He turned his head to the side, intensifying the press of his mouth to her own as he held her head in place.

It was their first time making out, yet he knew it wouldn't be their last.

There were many things he liked about being Spider-Man.

He liked the suit. He liked the strength. He liked soaring through the air like he could fly. He liked his ability to tell when danger was coming. He liked fighting criminals and putting bad guys where they belonged. Hell, he'd even liked returning from the Soul World and being the hero that literally flew Thanos' gauntlet across the battlefield amidst the chaos.

But this— _she_ —was the best part.

And she tasted like she belonged to him.

Peter felt what little control he held over his faculties slipping, just like the slip of his left hand down to the side of her throat. His thumb started to slide over. He liked the feeling of it beneath his bare hand, his hand which could crush it in seconds because his strength was that overwhelming.

He wanted to show her _exactly_ what he could do with her neck.

Suddenly, on the screen, MJ's character took a blow that nearly killed it.

She'd lost.

MJ's lips tore away from his in the ghost of a scream.

"Are you serious?!" MJ cried, pouncing on her keyboard and mouse. "I only have _one_ hitpoint left?!"

Peter took a step back, unable to stop himself from bursting out into laughter. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, torn between making fun of her and apologizing.

"You better stop laughing, headass," MJ snarled, grabbing the headset and shoving it down onto her head. She turned it and the mike on. "Betty, I know you see me dying, bitch. I _know_ you see me—"

" _Are you kidding me?!"_ Peter heard Betty screech on the other end. "I have _literally_ been screaming for you for the past ten minutes! I ran out of phoenix downs and I have no ethers to replenish my magic!"

" _What_?" MJ groaned and dropped her head back. " _No_."

" _Yes._ "

"I muted you!"

"Why the Hell would you mute me?!"

"I was busy!"

"What the heck were you doing?! Pooping?!"

MJ's second groan faded into a series of uncontrollable giggles that Becky mirrored.

Peter wandered over to his backpack, bending down so he could unzip it. From within, he pulled his skinny jeans and V-neck out.

"Hey, I'm gonna change," he said.

"Fine, fine. Do whatever," MJ said, still laughing, and then all that came from her direction was the clicking of keys and mouse, and the sound of Becky's voice directing her to reset her character.

Peter slapped his hand against the spider decal on the suit. It shrunk away from his body and he was able to remove it easily from there. Standing there in the hot room in only his boxers, he was almost overtly aware of the fact that he was standing right next to her bed. The bed she slept on every night, and that he'd be sleeping on with her that night. The twin-sized bed that was absolutely too small for both of them to have their own sides.

Cuddling was the only option tonight.

As he zipped and buttoned his jeans, his gaze landed upon the rumpled coverlet and sheets. His cheeks flared with heat as he remembered what it felt like to sit on that roof and listen to her through the phone. Her heavy breathing, her moans, her pleas. He'd forced himself to walk further onto the roof, feeling like it was wrong to watch her touch herself without permission.

It was one thing to watch her play video games, but to watch something as intimate as that?

He needed her consent.

Peter fell back onto the bed, raising one knee, stretching the other leg out, and folding one arm behind his head. With his other hand, he went on his social media apps on his phone. He scrolled mindlessly while MJ and Betty played for another half-hour.

Each minute felt like the countdown clock to something important.

"All right, hoe," MJ said in an exaggerated, joking tone. "I gotta sleep. But we can play tomorrow night."

"Okay, cool. Night, Em."

"Night."

She went through the process of shutting down her computer, and then the only light in the room came from the city lights outside. They seemed to cut through the shadows to illuminate her like a spotlight.

"I can't believe I died," she said as she walked closer. "I mean, for real—Betty and I have tried to kill that boss so many times. We were sure we had him this time."

Peter couldn't help it—he smirked. "I guess you can blame me."

"Shut up."

MJ knelt down by the bottom drawer of her dresser.

"What're you doing?" Peter asked.

"Looking for some pajama shorts that aren't made of ugly," MJ muttered, rummaging.

Peter rested his phone on his chest. "Why?"

"Why not?"

He gritted his jaw to force himself not to say something immature or stupid. He needed to act his age and he needed to be respectful. Just because they'd made out and just because she'd let him _listen_ to her the night before didn't mean anything was going to happen tonight.

"Do you wanna maybe open the window?" Peter asked. "Since it's so hot."

"We can," she said, pulling the shorts up onto her hips. Her legs were so long. They looked even longer as she leaned over the dresser and pushed the window open. "The neighbors below me always have theirs open, so we gotta talk kinda quiet."

She turned back to her dresser and pulled her satin bonnet from the top drawer. Peter had seen her wear it countless times. She tucked her curls up into it to protect them when she slept.

"Okay," Peter said, starting to scoot toward the wall.

"Ah-ah—nope," MJ snapped, the hem of her giant shirt nearly covering the bottoms of her shorts as she stood there with her arms crossed. "I like being next to the wall."

" _Okay_ , grumpy," he said, and then he moved toward the outside.

She hesitated and then climbed over him. His gaze traveled down her body as she did, and he gulped.

"I don't like the feeling of it being too like, open next to me," she explained as she laid back against the pillows, the side of her body completely pressed up against the side of his. She rubbed her eyes with one hand, yawning. "If there was like, a Thanos-being underneath the bed, it could reach up and grab me."

Peter let out an incredulous laugh. "A _Thanos-being_?!"

"Well, yeah. Did he have like, _beings_ that followed him around? With tentacles and claws and shit? What if one was under my bed?"

Peter continued to laugh, rolling his head to look down at her. He studied her face—it was pretty up close like this.

"Well, I'm here, so if there's a Thanos-being, you won't need to worry."

"Oh, are you gonna get him?" she teased, rolling her eyes. "As if you could take one of those fuckers on yourself."

"Is that a joke?"

MJ rolled her eyes yet again. "There is no way. Those things were huge. They had sharp, pointy—pointy—thingies. There's no way—"

"MJ, I took plenty of them out myself."

"Oh, really?"

"Um, _yeah."_ Peter rose up on his elbow, looking down at her in incredulity. "I was swinging around off the flying things, going all over the place. I had these like, spider leg things that Tony installed in my suit to protect me and I got literally like, thirty of them."

"Thirty?" She scoffed in disbelief.

"No joke. Thirty."

"No, come on. That's cap."

"No cap."

She pursed her lips. "All right, Mr. Thirty-as-fuck. What else happened?"

"Well, I got the glove thing. I got it and went swinging again. I was trying to get across the field, too, but it was taking forever so everyone was like giving me rides, and—"

"Giving you rides?"

"Yes, like—like there was a lady on a flying horse and she flew me."

"Like—Like Hercules?" MJ gave him a perturbed look.

"Yeah."

"Right."

"I'm serious. Listen. Okay, so I was like, on the horse, right? The ships were shooting this blue shit down on us, and the horse—Pegasus—whatever—was like swerving all over the place. So I jumped down to the ground and then I just _booked_ it to where I was trying to get—which it was like this van, but whatever—and I almost got shot."

"No."

"Yes. I did. I almost got shot. Then everyone like, showed up to help, and we got it done."

Peter fell silent because he knew what had gone on after that. He knew how it ended.

She didn't need to hear that part.

"What was it like?" she asked.

"What?"

"The place we went to. What was it like for you?"

Peter stiffened. They'd tried to have this conversation before. They'd both fallen victim to Thanos' gauntlet. They'd both been inside that red darkness for five years. But neither of them liked to talk about it.

At least, Peter didn't like to.

It reminded him of the fact that not even an hour after he escaped it, Tony died.

"You know what it was like," he said, scrolling through his Instagram feed without really looking at the pictures. "Sucky. Lonely. Dark."

"I know, but like . . . Do you remember anything? I can't remember anything. It makes it hard to go to sleep sometimes."

Maybe we're not supposed to remember anything," Peter said. "Maybe it's better if we forget."

"But it feels like something's missing. It feels like there's this—this _gap_ in my life that feels so hollow. I feel like everything was so shitty and then there was just nothing. And then I was back."

"Shitty? Why was everything shitty?"

"I dunno," she mumbled, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. "I just remember everything in my life being really shitty until it happened. Well, I guess until I joined decathlon. That was the first time I felt like I wasn't alone."

Peter's heart clenched. He knew what it was like to feel alone. Ned had always been his only friend.

But MJ hadn't had _any_ friends.

"Is it just like, hard for you to make friends?" he asked.

"Yeah." Her voice was soft. "I have a hard time trusting people. Ever since my dad left, I just really have a hard time with it."

"When did he leave?"

"I was thirteen, I think." Peter saw something perplexed flashing across her face for a moment. "I don't remember much of that year, though. I mean . . . I remember my parents started fighting a lot after my birthday. And I remember my mom constantly screaming at me about the way I dressed. But it was like, because I was getting so tall. I think I was already almost five-eight by then. We couldn't afford clothes but I was growing out of my stuff every few months."

Peter, still raised up on his elbow, looked down at her. "It's not your fault you grew fast. I don't understand why your mom would scream at you."

"Well, when you meet her," MJ said, giving him a scathing look, "you'll find out how crazy she is."

"Dude, come on." It was Peter's turn to roll his eyes. "She's your mom. I'm sure she loves you."

"Whatever."

"What's the issue? The fact that she screamed at you?"

"No."

"Does she still scream at you, or something?"

"Yes. Well, _no_. Not like she used to—but I don't dress like I used to."

"How did you used to dress?"

"When I was growing up, believe it or not, I dressed like a whole girl. Dresses and tights, buckled shoes. When I was thirteen and getting taller, she would scream shit like, _put some clothes on when your dad's in the house!_ And I'd literally just be wearing a dress. It was ridiculous."

Peter studied her face. "And that's why you think she doesn't love you?"

"No. I just think I'm not like, lovable." She pushed the words out in a rush, shrugging her shoulders. "Like, you know those girls who just smile and you just want to give them the wholeworld because you think they're so _nice_. Yeah, that's not me."

Did she not realize that Peter wanted to give her the whole world?

"MJ, that's ridiculous." He laughed. "You're lovable."

"That's like saying I'm cuddly, too." She pantomimed throwing up. "Ew. Sick. Nas-tay."

"Shut up, dork," he said, and then before he could really think about what he was doing, he slipped his arms around her waist. One arm curved around her back between the mattress and her ribcage, gathering her up against him. Even though she went rigid, he let his hand cover the back of her bonnet-covered head. His other hand stroked lightly up her upper arm. "See? You're cuddly."

"This is gross," she muttered.

"Why, because it's hot in here?"

"Just—drop it. You wanted to cuddle, so get your fill. We'll lie here and cuddle."

"For how long?"

"You can have . . ." MJ tapped her chin in thought. "Five seconds. I'm counting. _One_ —"

Peter's hand darted from her arm to her chin, squeezing it lightly and pinching her cheeks together. She tried to say the number _two_ , but every time she did, he shook her face. He did it so many times that she began to laugh too hard to continue.

"Stop. _Stop_! I'm gonna—" More laughter, her entire body shaking. "—gonna _cancel_ you if you don't stop!"

"You can't cancel Spider-Man. I'm uncancellable."

"You're problematic."

He let go of her face, his hand trailing absentmindedly along her jaw, committing it to memory. "How am I—or how is _Spider-Man_ problematic?"

"There's something sus about men in full-body skin suits," she said, tone dramatic. "I don't like it."

"You don't like it?"

"Nope, not at all."

Peter's hand curved underneath the jaw he was memorizing, pulling her face upward. Moving her until her lips were inches away from his own was easy. He was too strong for her to pull back, even if she wanted to. And when he closed the distance between them, kissing her gently, she seemed to be okay with it.

Peter's heart skipped a beat as something heated curled low in his abdomen, pushing him to roll her over until she was beneath him. Their kiss grew more heated, more passionate as he poured himself into her any way he could. He was on his knees, propped on his forearm as he reached down for the hem of her shirt.

His fingers tickled the bare flesh of her abdomen, feeling the give of her curves there, and he groaned.

"Wait."

MJ placed her hands flat on his chest, where he knew she could feel his heart slamming against his ribcage. She closed her eyes and when she opened them, she looked frightened.

"I don't know how to explain it, but I just—I need a second."

"Are you okay? Is it serious?" He rose up onto his hand, looking down at her with concern. "Are you all right?"

"No, I'm fine. It's just—" She swallowed, hard. "—just something in my chest. Or like my gut. I don't know how to explain it. It's like I'm freaking out or freezing up."

He lifted one hand, drawing back onto his knees. "Is it me? Do you want to stop?"

"I just—" She shook her head, reaching for him. "No. No, no no. Just go slower."

Peter allowed her hands to tug at his shirt, pulling him back. His mind felt apprehensive as she cupped his face with her hands and drew him down. When they kissed this time, he could sense the hesitancy.

"What is it MJ?"

She closed her eyes again and her breathing hitched. "I don't know. I don't know. It's just—something. I don't know."

Peter's senses began to tingle, like they always did when something was wrong in the city. Only this wasn't the city. This was MJ's dorm room.

And she was crying.

"I'm sorry," she said, face pinched as tears leaked out of her closed eyelids. She shook her head. "I don't know why I'm so overwhelmed. This happened last time."

"What?" Peter turned until he sat beside her, his hand pushing her up into a seated position. "After—after the phone—"

"Yes," she said, nodding as she wiped her eyes. "After we hung up, I just lost my shit. I don't know. I just burst out crying."

Peter felt the panic rising inside of him like a burst of energy. Had he pushed her too quickly? Was this too fast? Maybe there was a reason why she'd taken so long to go beyond a kiss—maybe he should have been able to sense that.

Why had he been so selfish?

"I'm so sorry, MJ," he breathed, feeling on the verge of a rush of emotions himself. "I shouldn't even be here. I pressured you. I should—"

"But I don't want to waste this time," she whispered, looking up at him with an almost forlorn expression. "I don't think Bethany is coming back tonight."

"Something's wrong," Peter protested. "I think it's a sign you don't want to do anything."

"Nothing's wrong. I think I'm just nervous because I've never—because I haven't—"

"It's okay," Peter murmured, understanding. His hand ran down her spine until it came to rest on the mattress behind her. "What do _you_ want to do?"

She gave him a worried look. "Did you come here tonight specifically to . . . ? I mean, were you expecting us to . . . Fuck?"

Peter almost choked on the air he breathed. She was so blunt, even when tears were still slipping steadily down her cheeks.

Slowly, he used his thumb to wipe the tear tracks away from her skin on either side, focusing to distract himself from the mental images her words conjured up.

"I came here because I missed you, I wanted to see you, and because I've been a bad boyfriend. If you wanted to lay down right now and just sleep, then we would."

She stared at him. In the silence, the sounds of the city leaked into the room. Honking horns, zooming cars, televisions with high volumes in apartments above and below.

And in here, they were in their own world.

"I don't want to sleep," she said.

Peter nodded, forcing himself to look indifferent to her implications. "What do you want to do?"

"We can do whatever you want," she said, averting her eyes. "Just not sex. Not yet, at least."

Inside, Peter screamed.

"Okay," he said calmly.

"I just don't know if I can do anything to you," she said, and she looked guilty. "Is that bad? I mean, is that a problem? Will you be mad?"

"No, of course not," he said gently. "I just wanna be with you, MJ. If you only ever gave me the rights to look at you, then I'd still be happy. I lo . . ."

He trailed off, thankful the darkness hid his blush.

She cocked her head to the side, a momentary flicker of confusion making itself apparent. Then, when she realized he wasn't gonna say anything else, she grinned.

"Simp."

His mouth curved up into a smirk and then his lips descended upon hers.

Peter didn't know when the urge had come upon him. He didn't think it mattered. There didn't need to be any lead-up or declarations. Perhaps that was the reason they were struggling so much—because they were waiting for lead-ups and declarations.

He just needed to kiss her.

Something seemed to come alive in her.

MJ wrapped her arms around his neck, her back arching to press their chests together. It was she who tilted her head to the side this time. She who slipped her tongue past the seam of his lips. She who held his head in place.

It was like he'd woken her up.

Peter fell into the kiss, their tongues rolling together as he kissed her with all the pent-up desire he held for her. The fires inside of him flared until he lost his senses and thus, all of his control. He pulled away so he could kiss the living daylights out of her throat again. It may have been the heat, but the pattern of her breaths stuttered and grew heavier, like she was trying to catch her breath.

"I'll make you feel good," Peter whispered, lips ghosting along her jaw. As they came to the shell of her ear, the hand of his that wasn't on the mattress crossed over their bodies so he could grip her right hip. "I'll make you feel better than you did last night, okay?"

"Okay."

His hand slid back and then up to her knee. Slowly, he pushed it open so he could settle atop her until she laid down. MJ was shaking beneath him as he resumed kissing her neck, relishing in the little shivers that seemed to echo through her muscles every time his lips or tongue touched her skin. Her fingers dug into the backs of his shoulders.

MJ's thighs cradled his lower body between them, tightening every time he kissed her pulse or her ear. He could feel her, just as she could feel him. The blood in his body ran hot—too hot for the Summer—and it rushed south of his heart.

He wanted her.

Peter rested on his elbow, facing her as his other hand roamed down her body. It slipped beneath her shirt again, sliding up. She seemed to like the feeling of his hand stroking her flesh, kneading and squeezing as he absorbed the feeling of her. He felt like he'd never wanted anything more in his entire life.

"This okay?" he mumbled, half-delirious with lust as his fingers tickled the underside of her bare breast.

"Yes," she said, and it was a harsh pant. "You can—"

His hand covered her breast and he cut her off.

" _Fuck_ ," he whispered, any sanity remaining in his body flying out of his mind because, yeah. Hi. _Hello_. This was his girlfriend and she was finally letting him touch her chest. He kinda sorta needed a minute. "You're so fucking perfect."

Right as he sucked her earlobe into his mouth like he had earlier, his fingers rolled the peak of her breast between them. Her entire body jolted, her hands gripping his shoulders tighter. He repeated the movement, gentle with his fingers and firm with his lips and tongue. She shook, a small noise dying in her throat. By the time he did it a fourth time, the small sound was clearly trying to escape.

She was holding back.

Peter began to kiss down the front of her throat, pushing her shirt up as he went. Her hands fell to the pillows beside her head, her lips remaining closed in silence as he exposed her breasts to the darkness of the room. He looked up at her for a lingering moment.

"Still okay?"

She nodded, saying nothing.

Peter held her gaze as he lowered his mouth to her left breast. His heart felt like it was going to explode. When his tongue laved against her nipple, her eyes rolled up and her back arched up off of the bed. He saw her sink her teeth into her lower lip and knew that whatever this did to her, it was good.

MJ's hips were moving too much.

He took his right hand and grabbed her right hip, pinning her pelvis down to the mattress as he continued to lavish attention to her breast. Her back shrunk away, like she wanted to escape the softness of his mouth, but when he started to lift his head, her hand pressed it back downward, holding it there.

He heard the sound again and realized—it was a whimper.

She was trying to be quiet.

Peter could feel her squirming, writhing as she tried to move, but he was too strong. She was helpless.

And he liked that.

"Ready?" he whispered, lifting his mouth from her breast.

"I think so," she said, her brows knitted together on her forehead. "Yes. Are you gonna—I mean like, what are you gonna _do_?"

"Touch you," he said, and it accidentally came out like a purr. His hand was creeping down the front of her body.

"Okay, then . . . Yes. I'm ready."

Peter's hand slipped between her legs, beneath the waistband of her pajama shorts. He had _no_ idea what he was doing beyond what he'd read in books and he figured that the best course of action was to go slow and be exploratory. The more comfortable he got, the better it would be for her.

Propped up on his hand, he watched his other hand stroking the center of her panties. They were warm and wet. Her hips rolled gently, like she was indulging.

Peter did that for a while, moving two forefingers slowly up and down. He glanced up at her face, watching to see if anything overwhelmed her. It was difficult, managing his concern for her while trying to hold back his desire to go faster. She was so pretty and here, beneath him and at his mercy, she really was breakable.

He had a responsibility to take care of her.

"Okay," MJ said, looking up at his face as she took her bonnet off and dropped it onto the bed beside her. She pushed her curls until they were splayed out above her on the pillow. She let out a steadying breath. "You can touch me underneath now."

Peter didn't say anything. He just watched her as his fingers moved up and then down into her underwear, where they felt her bare flesh. He didn't know what he expected his reaction to be. Definitely a little more controlled.

He lost it.

"Jesus, _fuck_ ," he hissed when he felt how wet she was, when his fingers slipped through curls and arousal. He dropped kisses to her right breast, listening to the sound of her gasp when the movement caused his fingers to slide up the length of her core. They brushed against a spot that made her cry out.

Her hand slapped over her mouth.

Peter froze, lifting his mouth from her breast. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, speaking in a strained voice from behind her palm. "I'm good. Just—right there was—that was it."

Peter narrowed his eyes. He slid his fingers up again, to the spot, and massaged a gentle circle.

"There?"

MJ jolted again, her eyelids fluttering. When he repeated the movement, testing speed and firmness, she was never able to answer his question. She seemed to grow lost to the exploratory movements, her hips rocking to the cadence of his fingers as he played with her. So he kept going, not stopping even as he brought his tongue to the peak of her breast again.

She moaned behind the press of her hand to her mouth. It sounded almost desperate, edging on emotional.

"Is this good?" he asked, a bit worried even as he continued the slow, wet circles to the apex of her core. "Does it feel good?"

" _Yes,"_ she whined, and then her hand covered her other breast. It squeezed, massaged, kneaded—just the way he had. When she spoke, it came out in a rushed whisper. "It feels so good. It feels so, so good."

Peter bit his lip, resisting the urge he had to grind against her. He was hard— _too_ hard. He wanted to sink inside of her and see what it felt like to be completely surrounded by her.

But it was too soon.

Even though she'd been okay with this, she wasn't ready for that. They needed more time.

And then something shifted, grew more intense. It was a tension in her body that had wound tighter and tighter, and now was on the verge of snapping apart. He could tell. By the way her breath kept catching and the increased amount of moans that she was trying—and failing—to stifle, he could sense it easier than he could sense when something was wrong.

She was close.

He increased his pace.

"No, don't—don't change the speed." She gasped loudly and then whimpered, her hips jerking hard. "Keep doing that. Slow, slow. Keep— _oh_ , my God. Oh, my God."

Peter's mind was completely white. He watched his fingers moving, unable to focus on anything else other than the fact that he was about to make his girlfriend come. It was better than listening to her over the phone.

It was insane.

"You're so beautiful," he said, refusing to keep the words inside. "You know that?"

She looked at him through half-lidded eyes, her hand still over her mouth as she moaned into it. There was something sexy about the fact that she was trying so hard to keep quiet, whether out of embarrassment or trying not to alert the neighbors because the window was open. That, and him keeping her hips pinned down.

Peter wanted to ruin her.

His fingers slid down and inside of her as easily as though she were made of liquid. She groaned, head thrown back as her body accepted him with ease.

"Is this okay?" he breathed, voice ragged as he pulled his fingers out and slid them in again.

MJ nodded, removing her hand from her mouth.

Peter held back a groan.

"You're mine," he said, his fingers sliding in and out with aching slowness. "All fucking mine."

"Faster," came her reply.

He went faster.

" _Faster._ "

And he went even faster.

He went so fast, in fact, that he sat up on his knees, held her down with one hand, and slammed the fingers of his other hand in and out of her body. He could see the vein on his forearm standing out from the exertion as he quite literally fucked her with his hand.

She wailed.

"Are you gonna come for me?" Peter leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear again. "Gonna come all over my fucking fingers?"

Her hand wrapped around his wrist, almost holding it in place as she rolled her hips and fucked herself with his fingers. Peter thought he might lose his God damn mind.

"Tell me," he said, eyes searching her face before he began kissing her neck again, all while his fingers moved.

"I can't," MJ moaned.

"Yes, you can. Tell me what you're gonna do."

She took several breaths, punctuated by desperate moans, before she made a valiant attempt and succeeded.

"I'm—I'm—gonna c-come all o-over your f-fingers."

"Good girl," he murmured, his nose nuzzling into the curve of her throat before kissing it gently. He remembered what she'd wanted him to say on the phone, and it seemed to work wonders on her body. " _Good_ girl."

She gasped louder and louder, and then her entire body bowed off of the bed as she came. Peter touched her through it, working her body until she was a convulsing, moaning mess covered in sweat on the mattress beneath him. Her hand loosened its hold on his wrist, returning to the pillow by her head.

MJ looked up at him in a daze, her curls a cloudlike halo around her head and the sweat dripping off of her forehead in the hot room.

Suddenly, she sat up and scrambled towards the end of the bed.

"What's wrong?" he asked, feeling the panic returning.

"I'm just—I think I'm gonna sleep in Bethany's bed," she said. "It's too hot and I'm just kinda like—you know. Overwhelmed."

"Well, are you—"

"I'm fine," she spat. "I'm fine. Good night."

Peter stared at her, bewildered as she crossed the room and climbed into her dormmate's bed. He opened his mouth to ask her again but she'd already turned to face the wall. Anxiety clawed at his heart, opening up icy wounds in his feelings for her.

He went into the bathroom to wash his hands, frowning at his reflection in deep thought. Part of him wanted to leave, to give her privacy, but somehow, he had a feeling lingering within him that told him it would make things worse. She needed him present.

What was wrong with MJ?

Fifteen minutes later, when his enhanced hearing picked up the sounds of MJ's quiet sobs from his place on her bed, he knew that something was indeed wrong.

He'd fucked up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my writing, you can find more at my website.
> 
> www dot honeysweetwriting dot com
> 
> You can also find me at:
> 
> Facebook: HoneySweetReaders
> 
> Tiktok honeysweetcutie
> 
> Instagram honeysweetwriting
> 
> Tumblr honeysweetcutie

**Author's Note:**

> If you like my writing, you can find more at my website.  
> www dot honeysweetwriting dot com
> 
> You can also find me at:  
> Facebook: HoneySweetReaders  
> Tiktok @honeysweetcutie  
> Instagram @honeysweetwriting  
> Tumblr @honeysweetcutie


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